


Bad Moon Rising

by Domina_Temporis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, First Full Moon, Gen, Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic, Pre-Canon, Pre-Marauders' Era, Pregnancy, St Mungo's Hospital, Werewolves, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7052266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domina_Temporis/pseuds/Domina_Temporis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before anyone solemnly swore to be up to no good, the groundwork was laid for events that would shape the lives of generations to come. A prequel of sorts to the Marauders generation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Right and Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into a new fandom since I started writing fanfiction. Even though I've been into Harry Potter longer than any of my other fandoms, I've never thought about writing it until recently, when my love of HP came roaring back with a vengeance. This is what happens when the eleven-year-old who read Prisoner of Azkaban all those years ago and was instantly desperate for the story of the Marauders spent fifteen years in other fandoms before finally coming home.
> 
> Title from the song by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

May 7, 1943

Lyall Lupin's best subject was easily Defense Against the Dark Arts, and during their whole third year, he'd enjoyed it more than he ever had. He supposed it was only natural; he'd been fascinated by Dark creatures since he was very young. When he thought about next year, when they would move on to basic jinxes and hexes, he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Perhaps he should specialize in Dark creatures as a career.

He read the chalkboard as he walked into class that morning: werewolves. He shuddered; he knew which Dark creature he wouldn't be specializing in. Lyall honestly wasn't sure if he could think of anything that was much worse than a werewolf. Oh, there were more dangerous creatures, yes. The nundu, for instance, or the lethifold. But nundus were native to Africa and lethifolds to the tropics. Only the werewolf was common enough in Britain to prove a real danger. Besides, there was something particularly horrifying about so dangerous a creature that appeared human.

Professor Merrythought rapped her wand smartly against her desk. "Attention, class. Exams are coming up, and the last Dark creature we need to cover before we begin revising is the werewolf." The class quieted down, and Merrythought began pacing around the front of the room. "I'm going to assume that at least one of you knows the basics of what a werewolf is?" she asked, eyeing the class.

One of the other Ravenclaw girls raised her hand. "Well, they turn into wolves during the full moon," she began, "and the victims of a werewolf bite change into werewolves themselves."

"Yes, quite correct, thank you," Professor Merrythought said. "A werewolf, when transformed, has an insatiable urge to bite any human they come across, and unfortunately for the victim, there is no cure for a werewolf's bite, nothing that can alleviate the symptoms of transformation."

One of the other boys let out a disbelieving laugh, and Professor Merrythought raised her eyebrows at the offender. "Something to say, young man?"

"Well, isn't that a waste of time?" the boy asked. "Who cares about making it easier?" Lyall privately agreed; he could see the necessity of searching for a cure, so no one else would become a monster, but alleviating the symptoms? All that would do was make life easier for the ones that did already exist. He didn't see why anyone would spend their time trying to help creatures everyone agreed were too dangerous to be around.

"I'm told," Professor Merrythought said, "that the transformation is quite painful." Lyall scoffed, and Professor Merrythought went on, "Certainly, however, any treatment would raise the possibility of integrating werewolves into the rest of wizarding society - holding jobs, perhaps even attending school, and I'm sure many people would take offense at that." Lyall's mouth fell open in horror at the thought of one of those things in Hogwarts, perhaps in his dormitory. He wasn't the only one; several other students were looking at each other, disgust written on their faces.

"Can anyone tell me where werewolves are usually found?" Professor Merrythought continued, as everyone got back to note-taking.

Lyall raised his hand. "Don't they sort of live in packs in the woods?" he asked. Attacks always seemed to cluster in one place, until all the ordinary people were driven away from their homes. It was enough, he thought angrily, to scare anyone.

"I was referring more to geographical area - to which the answer is all of them - but Lupin is correct," Merrythought said. "Most werewolves choose to band together among their own kind, living as far away in the forests from wizards as they can." Lyall nodded; an article he'd read in Defense Monthly over the summer had raised the question of how little most of these packs did to prevent themselves from attacking others. His dad had said that just because they weren't in animal form all the time, it didn't mean that wasn't what they were.

Another girl raised her hand. "Professor, how exactly is the condition transmitted by the bite?"

"Well, very few people have managed to extensively study werewolves," Professor Merrythought said. "The prevailing theory is that it is an infection passed on by the bite and carried through the bloodstream."

"Oh," the girl said. "So it's like a illness."

"That is the current theory," Merrythought said. "However, it is also true that the wounds left by a werewolf do not heal. They are cursed, the same as if the victim were hit with a powerful, Dark spell. It is unknown whether the condition is truly an illness or a result of the curse. Or if, perhaps, the infection is responsible for the physical changes, while the curse is the cause of what many people believe is the change in the soul."

Lyall looked up from his note-taking, intrigued. He raised his hand. "So there is a change in the soul?" Of course there was, he realized. Why else would so many newly bitten werewolves change so utterly, choosing to live in vicious packs in the woods? His father had been correct; the human form was only an appearance.

"As I said, it is currently unknown whether that is the case," Professor Merrythought said. "But the number of deliberate attacks and petty crimes committed by werewolves certainly lend credibility to the idea," she admitted.

"I'd say it's true, then," Martin Doggle muttered next to Lyall, who nodded

"Now, it is important you be able to recognize a werewolf should you see one," Merrythought said. "There are several small but key differences between the werewolf and the true wolf. The most notable is the tail." She showed the class an image of a werewolf and a wolf next to each other. "You see the werewolf's tail is tufted, the true wolf's is not. That's the most obvious way to tell. The snout is also shorter on the werewolf. Some people say they have seen signs of intelligence in the werewolf's eyes that are not present in a true wolf."

Lyall nearly gasped in horror. "Are they aware of themselves?" he asked, and Martin began giggling next to him. Too late, Lyall realized the pun he'd made and felt his face flush, but Professor Merrythought shook her head.

"Most experts concur that, no, werewolves are not aware of their human form while transformed, and would easily attack even their closest friend on the night of the full moon. They are unable to help it," Merrythought said.

"Well, Professor, I disagree," Martin said lazily, raising his hand. Lyall stared at him; best friends they might be, but Martin was braver by far.

Merrythought was used to him by now, so she only raised her eyebrows. "And why is that, Doggle?"

"No werewolf's going to attack their best friend," Martin started, "because what sort of werewolf has friends?" Lyall laughed appreciatively along with the rest of the class; he hadn't thought of that.

"Yes, well," Merrythought sniffed disapprovingly. "I will also teach you the skill of identifying an untransformed werewolf, since you're much more likely to encounter a werewolf during the days of the month when the moon is not full." She began pacing the room again, and Lyall prepared himself to write down as much as possible; this could be very useful.

"The untransformed werewolf appears human," Merrythought began, "but there are signs, particularly if it is close to the full moon. They will often appear to be ill; pale, sickly complexion, dark circles under the eyes, feverish. Werewolves age prematurely, due to the effects of transformation. A werewolf who has lived for say, twenty years with the condition, will appear to have aged perhaps double that amount of time; it cuts their life expectancy in half. They also begin to lose their voice after a time; those who have lived with the condition the longest may not be able to speak at all. Both of these will allow you to determine a long-lived werewolf. Newly bitten werewolves may not be able to control some of the more...animalistic behaviors, particularly around the full moon, and many refuse to. Behavioral markers are things you will need to watch for."

Lyall made notes of the identifying marks and read them back, horrified, remembering how many stories he'd heard of untransformed werewolves losing control and attacking innocent people. No wonder things like that happened, if they couldn't control the wolfish behaviors. And many of them refused to?

"Traditional curses, even the Killing Curse, are less harmful to a werewolf while transformed," Merrythought continued. "Some curses, such as the Stunning Spell, may not work to their full extent even on an untransformed werewolf. These," she wrote out a few curses on the board, "will drive a werewolf away, if performed with strength and focus." Lyall wrote them down carefully; even at thirteen he recognized how powerful they were.

Professor Merrythought paused and said, "If any of you are ever the victims of a werewolf attack, something I sincerely hope will not happen, the wounds will not seal themselves. They don't ever heal, and the only chance of survival is by applying a mix of dittany and silver immediately."

"Why would you want to?" Lyall asked under his breath.

"Mr. Lupin?" the professor asked, and Lyall glanced down. He hadn't meant for her to hear him.

"Er, I said, why would you want to? Bother sealing the wounds, I mean, if you know you're just going to be a werewolf?" he asked. "I think I'd rather die."

Professor Merrythought nodded seriously and said, "Many people have made that choice. Let us hope that no one here ever has to." She glanced at the clock and closed her book. "Class dismissed. Please hand in your essays on how to recognize and defeat a werewolf by Friday."

Lyall shuddered as he left class. "Can you imagine a worse creature?" he asked.

"Probably," Martin said, shrugging. "Honestly, Lyall, dementors are worse by far."

Lyall shook his head, trying to explain it. "Dementors don't look human. You always know where you stand with a dementor. But werewolves...it could be anyone! You'd never know until it's too late."

Martin grinned at him. "Well, I mean, you're right, but you really don't like werewolves at all, do you?"

"Is there anything to like?" Lyall asked. "No hope of a cure, being cursed forever with an animal's soul, living and acting like a monster? They ought to round up the lot of them and send them to Azkaban."

Martin grinned at him. "You're not wrong there."

Wrong. The knowledge of how wrong he had been was something Lyall now had to confront every day. His ignorance, and his certainty in his own beliefs, had nearly destroyed his entire family.

Now, Lyall glanced over at the young werewolf next to him, who he loved more than he had ever believed possible, and ruffled his hair fondly. He was right about that, he knew, right in protecting his only son at what was commonly believed to be the expense of others' safety. Right to send his son to school to get the same education anyone deserved, to try and give the boy any chance he could.

Lyall Lupin knew the truth now, regardless of what others believed, but he knew also that, thanks to him, it had come too late, and at an unbearably high cost.

May 7, 1943

The air raid siren went off at 10:30 at night, sending a sinking feeling into nine-year-old Hope Howell's stomach. Her mother ran into the room and all but pulled her up. "Come on, Hope, we've got to get to the air raid shelter."

"I'm coming," Hope said, but her mother grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind.

"Get outside and to the shelter!" her mum yelled at Hope's older sister and brother, Claire and Ernie, as they came down the stairs.

They ran outside, hearing the first of the bombs go off. Hope's mum pulled her along even faster, and Ernie and Claire ran ahead, stopping as they reached the shelter.

"Go on, inside," their mum said, opening the door, but Ernie stopped, looking up at the sky.

"It's a full moon tonight," he said. "The planes'll be able to see no matter how dark we make the city."

"Stop it, Ernie, you're scaring your sister," their mum scolded. Hope and Claire looked at each other, wondering which of them was supposed to be scared. The war had started when Hope was five, and Claire was six. Neither of them remembered what it was like to not have to be scared of air raids. It was just normal now.

"It's true," Ernie protested as he went down the stairs. He was twelve now, and considered himself an expert on everything to do with wartime. Hope liked it better when he told stories of what it used to be like before there was a war. He was the only one who really remembered it, and could tell them about peacetime, and having butter all the time, and their dad. Hope remembered her father a little, like how he would hug her tight and call her his angel, and read her stories, but they were fuzzy. The clearest memory she had of her father was the day the telegram came telling them he wouldn't be coming home.

"Used to be," their mother said, turning on the lamps and sitting down with a sigh, "the only thing you had to be afraid of the night of the full moon was a werewolf attack." She shook her head. "Shame of it."

Hope sat down on the hard floor, hoping her mother would tell them a story to pass the time until the all-clear was sounded, but Claire rolled her eyes. She didn't like their mother's stories of magical creatures, and witches and enchantments. She said they were ridiculous, especially with the war going on. Hope thought Claire was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with magic stories, especially during the war. Hope felt like she disappeared out of Cardiff and away from the war when she was reading her beloved copy of The Hobbit, or one of the Oz books, or imagining herself as a princess or something in one of her mother's stories.

But before their mum could continue, Ernie grinned wickedly. "Yeah, that's right. You would go out into the woods on the night of the full moon and," he pretended to growl menacingly. "They'd get ya. Tear you to pieces, if they don't make you one of them first."

Claire scoffed. "Everyone knows werewolves aren't real, Ernie."

"So?" Ernie said, undaunted. "It's a great story anyway." He made his fingers into claws. "Seemingly normal person by day, terrifying monster by night. They're evil." He drew the word out and laughed even harder as Claire glared at him.

"They are not!" Hope said angrily, frowning at Ernie and forgetting all about the possibility of a story.

"What else would you call something that'll turn you into a monster too?" Ernie asked, and laughed. "Feeling bad for the monsters again, Hope?" he asked. Hope's cheeks flushed; she always thought about the monsters in stories who had to be defeated. It wasn't so much that she felt bad for them; it was just that no one else ever seemed to look at things from their side.

Another bomb went off close by and they all looked up. "Come on, behave," their mum said tiredly.

They ignored her. There was really nothing else to do in the tiny air raid shelter, so they always ended up arguing. "No," Hope said stubbornly, thinking of Beorn from The Hobbit, who wasn't her favorite character, but wasn't a monster either. "I just don't think they're monsters. Even you said they were normal the rest of the time." Neither Claire nor Ernie had read The Hobbit, but Hope was used to that. Neither had anyone from school. It was just hers.

Ernie rolled his eyes. "They just look normal, Hope. That's the whole point."

Hope narrowed her eyes. "How would you like it if you had to turn into a wolf that wanted to attack everyone each month?" she asked angrily. "They're probably nice people who don't want to bite anyone! I bet it hurts, and everyone's scared of them for it." She glared at Ernie triumphantly as he started laughing. "Nobody would want that!"

"Hope, they're not real!" Claire said sharply. Another bomb went off, closer this time, as if to remind them what was real.

"I know they're not real!" Hope protested. She didn't want to admit that sometimes she still liked to imagine that magic, and witches and wizards were real, if only to herself.

But Claire wasn't done, and she said exasperatedly, "You're such a baby, Hope. You think life is a fairy tale in some story you can hide in. It's not. Can't you see that?"

Hope glared at Claire and Ernie. "I'm not a baby!" she said. And I don't hide in stories. Dad hadn't thought so; he'd always loved to tell her stories. If he was alive right now, he'd agree with her, she was sure of it.

"That's enough," their mother said sharply. "If you three can't behave you're going in separate corners until the air raid is over, understand?"

They nodded sullenly and fell silent, none of them able to fall asleep until the all-clear was sounded and they went back inside, each refusing to speak to the others and their mum just trying to get them to bed.

Many years later, Hope knew, though she could never tell anyone, that she had been right. This was the real world, full of magic and wizards and enchantments, like all the stories she had always heard. She lived it every day.

But Claire, Hope realized, had been right too. It was no fairy tale. Her gaze fell on the sofa, where a slightly too-thin boy was curled up under a blanket despite the summer weather. He tried to smile at her and she just smoothed the hair off his forehead, murmuring at him to rest.

No, it was no fairy tale, despite the fact that she was married to a wizard and had a son she adored. That, at least, she had been right about, even if no one believed her. No one except Lyall, who had helped her build the walls around their little family, walls that had worked all these years, but still seemed too fragile at times. Now, Hope sighed to herself, thinking of all the preparations she had to make.

The full moon was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 7, 1943 was one of the last instances of a German blitzkrieg attack in Cardiff.
> 
> Lyall Lupin, according to Pottermore, was around thirty in 1959-60, making his date of birth somewhere around 1929. This would put him in third year in 1942-43. There is no birthdate for Hope, but I put her at a few years younger. Anything about their families is completely made up on my part.


	2. After the Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving ahead a bit

June 1959

Hope had never thought marriage would change much in her day-to-day life; she'd gradually watched all her friends from school and her secretary course settle down with nice, local young men and go on to lives very much like those of their parents. Hope had assumed she would eventually do the same; after all, when her brother, Ernie, had married, almost no time at all had passed before it felt as if his new wife was just another sister. When her sister, Claire, had married, she'd only moved down the street from their mother. Barely a month later she'd been telling Hope that the honeymoon period didn't last; that before long it was all cooking, doing laundry and worrying about money.

That may have been the case for Claire, Hope thought, but three months after marrying Lyall Lupin, she felt as if their honeymoon would never end. She couldn't tell anyone why, of course. She giggled to herself, imagining the look on Claire's face if she could explain that Lyall was the one who did the laundry, and that it only took a whisper of "Scourgify" to clean their clothes in a few seconds. Her mother would be amazed if she could tell her that cooking dinner took half the time it used to, because Lyall actually liked to help her, and preparing ingredients was a quick affair when one could enchant knives to do the chopping themselves. As for money, the first time Lyall had taken Hope to his Gringotts vault and explained the conversion, she had nearly fainted. One Galleon went so much farther than one pound that Hope didn't see any financial difficulties ahead. People often seemed impressed that she had so much time to spend visiting her family and friends while Lyall was at work; she couldn't tell them it was because she had so much time to fill, with so many household tasks taken care of without her needing to lift a finger.

The things that Hope did fill her days with couldn't be explained either. She'd given up her secretary job with barely a glance back; it had been a necessity only, and besides, she needed the time. Entering the wizarding world was more complicated than just letting Lyall do a few household spells. She had known Lyall for almost three years, but living in his world was a different matter altogether, and Hope spent hours learning as much as she could about it. She kept the Wizarding Wireless Network on nearly constantly; the news broadcasts helped her stay up-to-date on current events, and when she didn't understand something, she would go look it up in Lyall's extensive book collection. One thing often led to another, and Hope sometimes spent entire days reading, jumping from book to book chasing new and interesting facts. With Lyall's help and encouragement, Hope threw herself into learning about her new world, and each day she felt as if she understood it a little more. Lyall seemed to be impressed with how much she knew already, and after a few more months, Hope was sure she would feel as at home as she could without a wand. For his part, Lyall made every effort to understand Muggle life, even if didn't come as easily to him, and they never ran out of things to talk about. Hope thought she couldn't be any happier.

By the middle of June, Hope had decided she wanted to do a bit more around the house (she couldn't let Lyall do everything) and had settled on potion-making as something she could concentrate on. It didn't usually require a wand, and was close enough to cooking that Hope felt she could learn it easily enough. She was beginning to get excited about the possibility of planting a garden of magical plants for their own use and learning to concoct potions herself, so one weekend Lyall had said they would go to Diagon Alley to visit the Apothecary.

The morning they were supposed to go, however, Hope woke up and immediately wrapped her arms around her stomach, which was doing flip-flops. "Are you alright?" Lyall asked sleepily, next to her.

Hope sighed. "I'm sure I'm fine, I'm just not feeling very well. I think we'll have to postpone our trip." That was disappointing; Lyall was often busy with work and she didn't know when he would be free to go with her again.

"There'll be plenty of time for trips to Diagon Alley," Lyall said. "Just as long as you get better."

Hope smiled at him. "I'll be alright. It's just a stomach virus, I'm sure." Lyall, good husband that he was, got up and brought her some tea, which settled her stomach for a little while. Next weekend, she promised herself. She'd feel better then.

Two weeks later, Hope woke up with the same nauseated feeling she'd been waking up with every morning for the past two weeks. She sighed and ran into the bathroom, exasperated. She had so much she wanted to do, and all she could do lately was relax on the sofa, feeling ill. Stomach viruses weren't supposed to last this long, were they?

The realization, when it came, hit her with the force of someone slapping her. Hope, how did you not realize? They hadn't really discussed it yet; she knew both she and Lyall wanted children, but for it to happen this early was more than she'd expected. She moved her hand down from where she'd been holding her stomach to her lower abdomen. She couldn't feel anything (other than ill) but she was sure of it now. There was no other explanation. Hello, little one, she thought, happiness beginning to flood through her. She had been wrong; this was the happiest she could be.

"Hope?" Lyall was standing in the doorway, looking worried. "Are you sure you don't want to see a Healer? This has been going on for too long, hasn't it?"

Hope just smiled. Normally, she'd be sorry she had woken him up but today she could barely keep from shouting the news at him. "I'm fine, Lyall, really. Or at least I will be, in nine months. Closer to eight, now, I expect," she said, watching his expression change from confused to stunned.

"What? You're...I mean, already?" Lyall began to grin, looking thrilled. "But this is wonderful!" he cried, hugging her tightly. He began to spin her around before putting her down quickly. "Oh, Merlin's beard, I forgot...I shouldn't…" he put her down and took her hand as if afraid to touch her anywhere else.

Hope smiled at his reaction. "I'm not made of glass, Lyall. Neither is the baby."

"Yes, yes, of course," Lyall said, grinning so widely he could hardly talk. "The baby. We're going to need things, aren't we? A crib, and - and toys, and clothes...Merlin's beard."

Hope burst out laughing. "We have months before we'll need any of that. Right now, you just need to go to work."

"Oh, yes, of course, you're right," Lyall said, still grinning. Hope wondered how he'd even make it into the office today; his head was obviously full of thoughts of their baby. Our baby, Hope thought happily, beginning to imagine it herself as Lyall left. She couldn't wait to tell everyone; her sister-in-law was pregnant too, and Hope beamed at the thought of their children growing up together. Except our child will be magical, she reminded herself.

Over the next few weeks, however, Hope thought she understood Lyall's impatience a little better (although not enough to justify the number of books, both wizard and Muggle, and toys he was already coming home with nearly every day). With no evidence of their child's existence, other than how ill she felt most days, Hope thought she couldn't wait for some sign that everything was going along as it should, even just some movement. She found herself growing more worried by the day: was this how it was supposed to feel? What if she wasn't eating enough? She could still hardly keep anything down.

"There won't be anything wrong, will there?" Hope asked one night, lying in bed while Lyall gently rubbed her belly, which so far helped with the nausea.

"With the baby?" he asked. "Why would there be?"

"The mix of wizard and Muggle," she answered. "There won't be, will there?" It was irrational, she knew that, but she couldn't help it.

"Of course not!" Lyall said. "Wizards and Muggles have been having children together for centuries. Why, some of the most talented witches and wizards are from Muggle families; the only magic in their lines comes from Squibs centuries beforehand. Half-and-half makes no difference."

That was comforting, but Hope frowned. She'd forgotten about Squibs. "Are they more likely in half and half marriages?" she asked.

"Squibs are just as likely to turn up in the most pure-blood of wizard families as they are anywhere else," Lyall said quickly. "Which is to say, not very. Squibs are rare, much rarer than Muggle-born witches and wizards."

Hope relaxed a little; she loved the idea of having a little witch or wizard. Sometimes she imagined she could feel the magic in their baby, even though she knew there would be no sign until early childhood. "Would you mind, though?" she asked. "If the baby is a Squib?" Many wizards, Hope was already finding out, looked down on those who couldn't do magic. She didn't think Lyall had ever thought about it.

Lyall just smiled at her. "No," he said. "It would only mean the baby would be like you." Hope smiled back and snuggled next to him. Everything would be fine. Really, she was so lucky she still couldn't believe sometimes that this was her life. There was nothing to worry about. But her fears obviously caught on, because Lyall was staring into space, frowning.

"What is it?" Hope asked.

He turned to look at her. "What if we do something wrong?" He looked so nervous, so unlike the excited expectant father that he had been the past few weeks, Hope realized he must have been trying to hide it so as not to worry her.

"We won't," she said firmly. She may have been worried, but one thing she did know was that they were going to do the best they could, and if Lyall's current attitude toward their baby was anything to go by, he would be an exceptionally devoted father. Hope had no worries on that account.

"But we've never done this before!" Lyall protested. "Taken care of a whole little person."

"We'll learn," Hope said. "Everyone does." She smiled at him and continued gently, "What matters is that we do our best, and that we love him, or her. If we do that, I think it'll work out just fine."

That seemed to help Lyall to calm down. "Yes," he said, visibly relaxing. "Of course, we'll do that. We're doing it already, aren't we?"

As the weeks passed, the morning sickness became less, to be replaced by nearly constant hunger. Hope didn't mind this quite so much; at least it meant she was eating enough. The swell of her stomach gradually became more and more noticeable, even in robes, but Hope took it as a sign that everything was going along as it should. She liked to think that her little one could hear her when she talked and felt it when she ran her hand affectionately over the bump. The weeks moved along, and much earlier than Hope expected, she began feeling movements, so tiny at first, then gradually more pronounced. It nearly took her breath away; before long the baby would actually be here, a real little person she could hold and cuddle. She thought that she could hardly wait to meet him. Or her, she reminded herself.

But as the baby's weight became heavier and more uncomfortable, it began to feel as if the birth was a very long way away. As the baby continually shifted inside her one October night, Hope gave up on trying to sleep and sighed. "Your baby won't let me sleep," she said irritably to Lyall, taking his hand and placing them on her stomach.

Lyall grew quiet until he felt the baby shift, and he smiled reverently. "He...or she...it's so small," he said. He moved his hand and he leaned up next to her, as if this was all he wanted from life.

Hope smiled too, although the baby no longer felt small to her, but large and constantly moving. He was small, though, their little one. Whenever she thought about how they were in charge of this tiny little person she got nervous, and just concentrated on the present.

Lyall, however, was already looking ahead to the future. "Just think of it, soon we'll be able to hold him and talk to him…and before long we'll be taking him to Quidditch matches and then sending him off to school." He looked incredibly excited at the thought.

Hope laughed. "Lyall, you're getting ahead of yourself. It's going to be so long before we can do any of that." It felt so far away that she hadn't even been thinking of anything past the actual birth; the thought that they could one day talk to their child and he or she would answer seemed so far away as to be unreachable. She winced as the baby tumbled particularly heavily, and Lyall patted her stomach.

"Your mum needs to sleep now, alright?" he said with a smile, as if he and the baby had a secret. Hope was about to tell him it wouldn't do any good when, miraculously, the baby stopped moving.

"Daddy's boy already, are you?" she asked. "Or girl," she added. For some reason they both seemed to feel the baby would be a boy, although they hadn't started out with a preference, and still didn't really have one. Just a feeling.

By the time Christmas came and they were heading to her mother's, Hope could barely fit behind the wheel of the car (a compromise, since Lyall was a terrible flier) and wished Muggle homes could be added to the Floo network. She'd probably have to spend the next two months stuck inside the house until the baby was born. She thought she was due in March, although she wasn't exactly sure.

"So, Hope, do you have any names picked out?" her mother asked brightly during Christmas dinner.

"We're thinking of David for a boy," Hope's sister-in-law, Caroline, said. She, two months farther along, looked as if she was about to go into labor right there at the table. Her older daughter, Elizabeth, sat on Ernie's lap, fast asleep after tiring herself out all day. "Mary for a girl," she added.

Hope and Lyall stared at each other. Their house was overflowing with baby-related items, and yet they'd never once discussed a name. Lyall looked at her as if begging her to come up with something, and Hope blurted out, "I was thinking of John for a boy, after Dad." Mention of her husband sent Hope's mum into tears of happiness, and the conversation moved on to their memories of him until Hope and Lyall got into the car to go home.

"I don't mind John," Lyall said. He'd often said he wished he had known Hope's father.

"The thing is," Hope said, "I think I'd rather something else, at least as a first name." She did love the idea of naming a child after her father, but something kept stopping her. Maybe it was because of her father's death in the war; she had the vague feeling that naming their child John would tie him to the terrible events of the past instead of the future, which looked nothing but bright. Besides, one of her favorite things about the wizarding world was the names. Many wizards did have Muggle names, but plenty of others were named after unusual-sounding plants, stars, or came from different mythologies (ones that she now knew were based in fact). Even Lyall's name came from an Old Norse word that meant "wolf." She couldn't help wanting her little witch or wizard to have a name from that world. She explained this to Lyall, who, to her surprise, rolled his eyes.

"You've got to go to a Naming Seer for that. That's what my parents did. It's tradition."

Hope looked at him. "A Naming Seer?" she asked.

Lyall nodded. "The Seer looks into the child's future and gives them a fitting name, based on the hints they see."

"Oh!" Hope said. That would explain why so many witches and wizards she had met seemed to have names that loosely fit either their personalities or their occupations. She'd always wondered.

"It's a load of hogwash, really," Lyall went on.

Hope furrowed her brows. "Why is that?"

"Because Divination is imprecise, open to any interpretation anyone wants, and is usually wrong anyway," Lyall said. "Look at my name; does it have anything to do with my life?"

Hope had to admit it didn't, but when so many others did, she couldn't dismiss it out of hand. "But we can do it anyway, can't we? Even if it isn't necessarily true?" She loved the idea of getting a nice, wizarding name out of it, and if they got a few hints of their child's future life, she wouldn't be against that either.

Lyall shrugged. "I don't have anything against it, I just don't think it's true. But if you want to, we can do that."

"Well, then, that settles it," Hope said. "Whatever name the Seer gives us will be the first name, and then we can use John as a middle name. Or Joan, if it's a girl." She smiled in relief that they'd figured it out and they spent the next two months preparing the baby's room. The spare bedroom had a lovely view of the forest, and Hope liked the idea that their baby would grow up away from the city.

At the beginning of March, Hope spent the whole day feeling odd, but it wasn't until midafternoon that she started feeling the contractions - like someone was squeezing her with a vise. "I think the baby's coming," she said to Lyall, who had thankfully begun staying home during the last weeks. Her voice was strangely calm; when she wasn't gasping in pain she remembered excitedly that it was finally here; the baby was coming and could hardly contain herself.

"Oh, my - I'm going for the midwife!" Lyall cried. He jumped up and sprang into action, then ran back. "I mean, should I? Leave you alone?"

Hope managed a laugh. "Better now than later," she said.

"Right," Lyall said, rushing out of the house. After a few minutes, he arrived back with the midwife and they let Hope lay on the bed, where she gripped Lyall's hand and cried out in pain every few minutes.

After nearly eight hours, Hope was exhausted, and she thought she would have fallen asleep if she didn't feel like someone was trying to tear her insides out. "You're nearly there," the midwife said encouragingly. "Keep pushing."

"I've been almost there for hours!" Hope snapped, straining to push. It was pitch black outside now, and Lyall was watching, holding her hand and looking increasingly nervous.

"Should it be taking this long?" he asked.

"It's normal for the first one to take longer," the midwife said.

"Oh, we are never doing this again," Hope said firmly, struggling to push. It has to be over soon, she thought desperately. It wasn't until sometime after midnight that Hope felt some of the strain give, pushed hard, and then heard a cry that wasn't coming from her. She pushed herself up weakly to see the midwife wrapping up a bundle.

"It's a boy," the midwife said. That's our son! Hope thought excitedly, relief flooding through her that the ordeal was finally over. The 10th of March, she thought to herself, making sure to mark their son's birthday before she fell asleep.

She woke up several hours later. Lyall was there next to her, looking both exhausted and amazed as he watched the bundle in his arms. "Can I hold him?" Hope asked sleepily.

Lyall jumped. "I didn't know you were awake," he said. He handed the baby over to her gently. "He's asleep."

Hope smiled and took the baby gingerly. He stirred a little and finally woke up at the movement. "Hello, love," she said. "Got used to Daddy holding you, did you? Is Mummy someone new?" She didn't think she would ever get tired of looking at him; his eyes were already green like his father's, and she couldn't wait for his hair to grow in, to see what color it was. Until then, she satisfied herself with playing with his little fingers and his adorable nose. So tiny, she thought. How did we make something so perfect?

"He's perfect," Lyall said softly, reading her mind. He kissed her, seemingly not concerned with what a mess she looked. "Thank you."

"I think we might be biased," Hope said, laughing. She wasn't serious though, she quite agreed with him. Nothing, she thought, would ever convince her that their son was not the most wonderful creature ever to walk the planet.

This, she thought, as she fell asleep once again with her husband at her side and her new son in her arms, was the happiest she had ever been.


	3. The Dubious Gift of Foreknowledge

March 17, 1960

When Lyall had finally announced to his friends, family and co-workers that he and Hope were expecting their first child, everyone had taken it on themselves to offer him advice. Lyall hadn’t had any idea of what to expect; having no siblings and no experience with babies or young children, he had listened to the increasingly complicated advice with trepidation. He’d wondered how he was going to go back to work when his boss told him he could forget about sleeping through the night for the next couple of years, and nearly worked himself into a panic when Hope’s brother Ernie warned him about the sometimes bizarre illnesses children managed to come down with. Even his own mother had laughed and given him extremely complicated instructions on how to properly change a diaper, something Lyall had thought he would be able to figure out with ease, which resulted in his waking up in the middle of the night, terrified of sticking the baby full of pins.

Now, as he held his week-old son and rocked him gently to sleep, Lyall rolled his eyes fondly. Yes, there were sleepless nights, but the baby was actually very easy to rock back to sleep in the rocking chair. He and Hope had changed many diapers so far, with no pin-related accidents, so it seemed to him that if they kept the baby warm and fed, he would be content. Lyall knew it wouldn’t remain this easy, but he was convinced that everyone had only been trying to scare him. For himself, he had thought he would be impatient to see the baby grow into a little person, someone he could teach to play Gobstones, explain Quidditch rules and read stories to, but he felt a great peace steal over him as he watched the baby fall asleep in his arms. He was no longer in any hurry; that would come in time. Until then, he found he relished the time he and Hope had been able to spend together with their baby as a family, and he dreaded having to return to work. The increase in Dark creatures seemingly across the whole country made Lyall hold his new son a little tighter, fears for his future overtaking his thoughts. No, I will not let anything happen, he promised himself. 

Hope came in and smiled to see them together. She said he had the touch, that she couldn’t get their son to sleep as easily. Lyall, for his part, believed that the baby associated his mother with food, not sleep, and stuck to that no matter how many times Hope assured him week-old infants couldn’t associate anything with anyone.

“Shh,” Lyall said softly as Hope sat down next to him. “He’s asleep.”

Hope smiled and said softly, “My mother wants to come and stay next week. Just until I’m used to doing it on my own.” The reminder that he would soon have to return to work caused Lyall to frown, but it did make sense. As Hope recovered from the birth, they had quickly developed a sense of teamwork regarding the baby, but now she would be left alone most of the day, and she had no more experience than Lyall himself did. “We’re going to the Naming Seer tomorrow, aren’t we? That’ll definitely work?”

Lyall nodded. “No Naming Seer has failed yet, as far as I know.” That, he thought, was because nearly all of them made it up, like the one his parents had visited when he was born. Where that Seer had got the idea that his life would have anything to do with wolves was beyond him. 

Hope, however, smiled. “Good. I can’t keep telling her that we haven’t thought of a name yet. Besides, he’ll be raised as a wizard and I want to do as many wizarding traditions as possible.”

“Really, we’ll raise him as both as much as possible though,” Lyall said. Their son would know magic, of course, but he would grow up with his Muggle grandmother and cousins as well, enough to know all about things like telephones and how to use the Underground. Lyall firmly believed that it was important for wizards not to be so ignorant about Muggle society; a belief he’d only strengthened when he met Hope and realized how much he didn’t know himself. She was far better at navigating the wizarding world than he would have been the other way around. With more and more witches and wizards coming from Muggle parents, it did wizardkind a disservice to be so uninformed. 

They left late the next day, after many discussions about how to get there. Hope didn’t want to travel through the Floo Network with the baby, which Lyall heartily agreed with. Floo Powder was no way to travel with a newborn. But taking the car would mean an extra two days away, which meant staying over. Lyall knew they couldn’t afford that, not now that they had a child to support. They’d finally decided on the Knight Bus, which Lyall had to admit was hardly any safer than the Floo Network, but at least they would only be away one day. He was more nervous than he wanted to let on; they’d never taken the baby out of the house yet and he had to remind himself that nothing horrible was waiting for them outside. It was just a side effect of working in the department he did. 

The Naming Seer they had found lived in a cottage on the edge of Cornwall. For such a beautiful area, Lyall thought the Seer had certainly chosen the most gloomy part of it. The cottage was nestled into the side of a hill, and the ocean visible beyond looked grey and stormy rather than wide and sweeping. The cottage was built of dull grey stones with an overgrown garden surrounding it. It appeared dilapidated and rundown; the effect was to make it appear very uninviting. Lyall rolled his eyes. Seers were known to be an odd bunch, and he was convinced most Divination relied on atmosphere at least as much as it did actual foreknowledge. He believed in facts; there was a reason he hadn’t taken Divination at Hogwarts. But it was tradition, even if it was starting to fall off in popularity, and it was what Hope wanted. Besides, he couldn’t help feeling curious himself about what hints of the future the Seer might give them, even if Lyall didn’t really believe they would come true. In the chilly sea breeze, the baby began to cry, and Hope rocked him gently to soothe him. She looked up at Lyall a little nervously, and he drew himself up and knocked on the door.

“Ah, I knew you were coming,” the man who answered the door said, obviously attempting to sound mysterious. He was older than Lyall by about twenty years, and seemed to be trying to make himself appear older by wearing all black. His hair was greying, and disheveled, and his eyes were so light blue they appeared almost transparent. Lyall, far from being impressed by this display, resisted the urge to snort. 

“We have an appointment,” he said shortly. 

“Yes, you’re Lyall Lupin,” the Seer said. “I am Joshua Augray, Naming Seer.” He swept into a bow, and Lyall glanced around the house, which was positively dripping in Divination accoutrements. There were bones in front of the fireplace and enough half-finished cups of tea on the countertop that Lyall was sure the Seer had been attempting tea leaf reading. Diagrams of palmistry and numerical predictions were hanging on the walls, and the ceiling was hung with all sorts of oddly shaped lamps and bundles of herbs everywhere. Lyall strongly suspected that the herbs were there for the smell alone, and he waved away some heavy smoke from the fire. Seers.

“My wife, Hope,” Lyall said, introducing her. She was looking around and approached cautiously, not loosening her protective hold on the baby.

“You are a Muggle, are you not?” Joshua Augray asked, looking deeply into her eyes.

“Yes,” Hope said. She glanced at Lyall quickly, as if to ask how he would have known that; she was dressed, as she nearly always did, in robes like any witch. More comfortable, she always said. It should have been impossible to tell, and Lyall had to admit he didn’t know how Augray had guessed so quickly.

“You wish to know your son’s name?” Augray asked, switching to a brisk, businesslike manner instantly. “First name only, or first and middle?”

“First name only,” Lyall said 

“His middle name will be John,” Hope said. “After my father.” 

“Ahh, of course,” Augray said. “He is gone, many years now, am I correct?”

Hope blanched. “How did you know that?” she whispered. “He was killed in the war - oh, I mean, the Muggle war, not the one against Grindelwald.” She was nervous, and Lyall had to admit he was growing more uncertain about this by the second. Hope’s father had been killed when she was six. There was no possible way anyone could have known that. 

Augray smiled, which did nothing to make him seem less intimidating. “I know, Mrs. Lupin. There are many things which coincide between your world and mine. That war was one of them.” A neat explanation that didn’t actually explain how he had known about her father.

“This is my world,” Hope said, seemingly growing more confident. “By choice, if not by birth.” Lyall’s chest swelled with love and pride even as he narrowed his eyes at Augray. 

“So, your son,” Augray said, turning to the bundle in Hope’s arms. Lyall could tell she was resisting the urge to step back, and he moved closer. “When was he born?”

“The tenth of March, just after midnight,” Lyall said. A nervous feeling entered his stomach; he was no longer sure that he wanted any hints of his son’s future from this odd man.

Augray suddenly looked up and surveyed Lyall carefully. “Your name, was it from a Seer?”

Lyall was slightly taken aback. “Yes, my parents used a Naming Seer.” It was part of the reason why he had been so reluctant to use one himself. His name was derived from an Old Norse word that meant “wolf.” Lyall’s parents had told him the story many times, how they had been surprised when the Seer had given them a name so odd when nearly all the Lupins had names from Welsh mythology. For his part, Lyall simply didn’t think the Seer they had gone to had been very good; nothing in his life had any connection to wolves. But most true Seers didn’t waste their time naming infants, Lyall reminded himself, of course none of it was real.

Augray smiled again, and this time Lyall did step back. “Ahh, that makes sense. It’s all,” he tapped his forehead with his wand, “coming together.” Something in Augray’s voice and expression made Lyall swallow nervously, and he had to to fight the urge to turn to Hope and insist they take their son away, to say that John was a perfectly good name.

“Why does that make sense?” Hope asked defensively. “It never has before.”

Augray’s smile only grew wider, as if to bring home how much more he knew than they did. Lyall didn’t like it at all; he could feel himself starting to anger. This was their child, his life and his future. What right did a Seer have to pretend to know more of it than they did? “Tell us what you see,” Lyall said sharply.

Augray closed his eyes and ran his hands over a crystal ball placed on the table in front of him. He winced in concentration. “There is darkness ahead...it is difficult to See through,” he said. Lyall wondered derisively if he said that to all the new parents who came to him, to excuse the opaque hints he gave them, when Augray’s eyes suddenly opened wide. “I see pain ahead, so much pain. Grief...it will not be an easy path ahead.”

Lyall’s mouth fell open, and he locked eyes with Hope. She looked scared, and Lyall’s gaze dropped to the baby in her arms. He was seized with the sudden desire to take his little son and run out the door, and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. There is no truth to this, he reminded himself. He glared at Augray. “What do you mean? You see nothing but pain and-and grief in my son’s future? He is only a week old!” Underneath, he was nervous. What kind of grief? Would something happen to him and Hope, leaving their child orphaned? How difficult could the path ahead be?

Augray looked a little desperate, and he looked into the crystal ball again. “There is...light as well. But even that is wrapped in darkness.” He squinted, then said, with a note of finality, “Moonlight. I see a life ruled by moonlight.”

What does that mean? Lyall thought. Hope was the one glaring now. “Is that all? Or do you also see a comet arriving to bring disaster to us all?” she asked sarcastically. 

“That is all,” Augray said, leaning back as if tired out. “Many people wish they had not heard of their child’s future. Foreknowledge is not as good a thing as people without the gift believe.”

This is not foreknowledge, this is nonsense, Lyall thought. What right did this odd wizard have, to scare new, excited parents as to their child’s future? 

Unless it’s true, a small voice in Lyall’s head whispered. Anything could happen, as he well knew. The wizarding world was a dangerous place, and from what Hope told him, the Muggle world was no better. He thought of the worries everyone in the Ministry was keeping watch on, the increase in Dark activity. No one knew where it was coming from, but what if it meant his son was going to grow up in wartime, constantly in fear of Dark magic, the way Lyall and indeed, Hope, had done?

“Do you still wish to know his name?” Augray asked. Hope nodded mutely, and Augray sighed. After a moment of silence, he said, “Remus. The child’s name is Remus.”

Lyall tried the name out in his head a few times, getting a feel for it. Remus. Remus Lupin. My son, Remus. No one could deny it was a wizarding name, as Hope had wanted, and Lyall, who had been prepared to dislike anything Augray chose, decided in surprise that he liked the way the name sounded. He saw Hope mouth the name as well and nod. He sighed in relief; they had got what they came for. Now they could leave. He pulled out his bag of money and counted out twenty-five Galleons for the Seer’s services.

“I am sorry,” Augray said. “Your son’s future was unusually strong. I don’t usually see so much...usually only a feeling or an idea.” He sounded as if he had stopped attempting to be mysterious, which worried Lyall more than anything. If the Seer was surprised by what he had seen then surely…? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yes, well,” Lyall said, unsure what to say to that. He should thank the man, but were thanks appropriate for being given a horrible glimpse into their son - Remus’s - future? Lyall swept outside and breathed in the sea air with relief. Hope followed him, still looking nervous.

“I didn’t think it would be like that,” she said quietly. 

“It isn’t, usually,” Lyall said. He’d seen many of his co-workers and school friends have children and go to the Naming Seer. None of them had described this. They’d all some back saying they’d been given hints of intelligence, or perhaps of a potential talent on the Quidditch pitch. Not hints about darkness, pain and moonlight.

“Remus,” Hope said, rocking the baby until he slept. “One of the twins who founded Rome.”

“They were both wizards, you know,” Lyall said absently. “It was a wizard’s duel that determined where the city of Rome would be built.” He had always loved the story.

Hope nodded. “I figured. Wizards turn up in a surprising number of Muggle stories.” A shadow of a grin crossed her face before she looked down at their son and frowned. “He picked the one who lost,” she said.

Lyall smiled for the first time. “I don’t think Romulus Lupin sounds as well.” Outside the cramped cottage, he felt as if he’d reentered the real world, and scoffed at his own trepidation. A few hints of a terrible future meant much less out here than they had in there, surrounded by the smell of herbs and the smoky atmosphere. He couldn’t believe he had let it get to him, after all the evidence he had that most Seers were nothing but hacks. Didn’t he himself have a name completely unconnected to his life, thanks to a Seer? Of course there was nothing in it, there couldn’t be.

“I like that it’s from a story. We’ll be able to tell it to him when he gets older,” Hope said. “Maybe Remus wasn’t the villain the story makes him out to be.”

“Maybe not,” Lyall said absently, sticking his wand hand out to summon the Knight Bus. They climbed aboard and took seats at the back that were the most likely to be stable.

“I wish we knew what else he meant, though,” Hope said a little tremulously. 

Lyall scoffed. “That’s Seers for you. Just hints and clues. Nothing concrete. Nothing useful. It’s why so many wizards end up fulfilling their own prophecies.” They both looked at Remus as he began to fuss, and Lyall gently patted his head. 

Hope smiled as Remus calmed down in her arms. “I actually do like it,” she said, as if she’d come to a decision. “With your name, it does fit that he’s named after a boy who was raised by a wolf.”

“I suppose it does,” Lyall said, frowning. That, more than anything else, concerned him. There was no reason for two different Seers, separated by so many years, to come up with such similar names. Unless it really did mean something. But what? Lyall felt as if he was trying to put together a puzzle, only someone was holding the most essential pieces just out of his reach. He shook his head in exasperation and told himself forcefully that nothing they heard could be true; Augray had only been trying to impress them with his ability to see the future. There was no reason to believe that little Remus would do anything but grow up healthy and happy. Lyall reminded himself of their family and friends, who were ready to help them through anything, his Ministry job that would not only provide him with steady means to support his family, but allowed him to be on the front lines, protecting innocents like his son from the worst creatures of the wizarding world. He thought of everything they had to look forward to: Remus’s first steps, first word, taking him to his first Quidditch match, someday sending him off to Hogwarts. Nothing was going to happen. Lyall would make sure of that.

It means nothing, he told himself once more, before driving it out of his mind forever.


	4. Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving ahead again, slightly

January 16, 1965

"If I'd known that being on the Committee would mean all these extra Saturdays," Lyall Lupin grumbled as he prepared to leave, "I wouldn't have agreed."

"I thought you said it was an honor to be asked," Hope said, handing him his cloak. "And keep your voice down! You'll wake Remus."

"It is an honor," Lyall answered, lowering his voice. "But they really don't need a boggart expert. Mostly what we get are a lot of manticores and chimaeras. The occasional acromantula." Still, he calmed down. Being on the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was an honor, and more than that, it was useful. He could keep dangerous creatures off the streets, and there were more of them than ever lately. He frowned, thinking of that, then shook his head. "Tell Remus I'm sorry I wasn't home again today. Hopefully I'll be home early enough to take him out in the snow." He felt terrible about how often he had to leave, when all Remus wanted was his dad to spend some time with him.

"It's important, what you're doing," Hope insisted. "You'll come home and tell him all about it." Lyall smiled. Remus loved to hear about his work with Dark creatures, and he could tell most of them apart. Such a bright lad, and not even five years old yet. Lyall left feeling much happier, and hoping whatever this was wouldn't take too long.

"Morning, Lupin," Consell, the resident grindylow expert, said as Lyall came into the questioning room. "Any idea what's going on?"

"No idea," Lyall answered. "They never tell us anything, do they?"

"It's probably just another formality, us being here," Consell said. "They don't really need us for what they bring in here."

Lyall nodded in agreement as Winn, the deputy head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures entered, followed by one of her colleagues, a woman whose specialty was acromantulas. Two more people followed, leading a third between them. Lyall watched with interest. The figure in the middle was quite ragged, his clothes torn and frayed, and while Lyall had originally thought he was nearing the tail end of middle-age, he realized the man was closer to his own age. He simply looked older, his hair going gray with premature lines across his face.

"We're here today," Winn said, "regarding the deaths last month of two Muggle boys in Cornwall." She sounded particularly grave. "These deaths have been attributed to a werewolf attack." Lyall inhaled sharply, and everyone began paying closer attention. This was unusual, not because werewolf attacks were rare, but because catching the werewolf responsible was. Lyall glanced at Greyback, noting the premature signs of age and deciding to keep a watchful eye on him. He shuddered. He couldn't stand werewolves; unlike vampires, they didn't attack to eat, which he could at least understand; but only to create more werewolves. While a vampire might allow a victim to live unscathed, if it satisfied its hunger, even if a werewolf's victim survived, they were changed forever. There was absolutely no hope, and besides, they were more than half animal even untransformed. Lyall had heard the stories as much as anyone; untransformed werewolves losing control and attacking no matter what the phase of the moon was. He scowled. It was probably too much to ask for the Werewolf Registry to actually do its job so they could check if this one was one of them.

"Fenrir Greyback, your name is?" Winn was asking the man, her expression neutral.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, looking up. Lyall leaned forward, the better to hear their exchange. The man's - Greyback's - voice was odd, hoarse, as if he always had a case of laryngitis, and Lyall felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Do you have a wand?" Winn asked evenly.

Greyback's expression grew confused, and Lyall was nearly positive that whatever he would say next, it was a lie. He remembered how untrustworthy werewolves were always said to be; lying to get into places where they could choose victims. "Wand? Like magic?" Greyback said, sounding confused. "Didn't know those were real. They just took me here, started talking about those two poor boys and I thought, well, anything I could do to help."

"I see," Winn said. "You make your camp in those woods?" she asked, and Greyback nodded.

"Yes, just me. It's cold there, not too many others want to stay there."

"Did you see anything, then, about these deaths?" Winn asked, handing him the newspaper. "The townspeople tell us you've been a common sight there the last month. Any new characters, people acting suspicious?"

Greyback shook his head. "There's been no one, not until you came and found me. I didn't even know werewolves and wizards and the like were real, until you showed up." He sat back in the chair, an expression of bewilderment on his face. Many on the Committee, including Consell, were shaking their heads. Lyall frowned, making note of Greyback's long nails and pointed teeth.

"Winn?" One of the other committee members stood up. "Those boys' wounds were consistent with a werewolf attack but I don't think it was him. He doesn't seem to know what's going on."

Winn nodded thoughtfully, and turned to the lone representative of the Werewolf Registry. "Is he-?" Lyall could have told her the answer without asking, and the representative shook his head.

"No, he's not on the Register." Lyall rolled his eyes. As if that meant anything.

Greyback sat back and Lyall noticed for the first time how glassy his eyes looked, and how drawn his face was. He looked tired and ill, Lyall realized, and a thought struck him. If that attack was a month ago, it was probably nearing the full moon now. He started rummaging in his pocket, searching for a calendar. He found it, and nodded. His suspicion was correct; tomorrow night was the full moon.

"What are you doing?" Consell whispered to Lyall.

Lyall shook his head, grabbing his calendar and rushing over to Winn. He was nearly positive Greyback was the werewolf they were looking for; he had all the signs, especially this close to the full moon. It explained several things that Lyall hadn't been able to figure out; a decidedly animalistic way of moving that made no sense to him until he realized that Greyback was naturally a predator. He steeled himself. It was far, far too dangerous to let any werewolf roam free, especially one who'd already murdered two young boys with his bare, well, claws, Lyall supposed. If he could keep this one off the streets, then he'd be doing something good. It would make these Saturdays worthwhile, at least.

Before he got there though, Winn stood up and sighed. "We have a great deal of business to get through today, and I think we've got all we can from you. I'm sorry we held you, but I don't think you have anything to do with this."

Lyall saw many of the other committee members nod to each other and Greyback start to smile with his sinister pointed teeth and cried out, "No, don't! Hold him, just for one night, to be sure."

Winn looked at him in surprise, "I don't think that's necessary, Lupin. We were wrong; he's a Muggle tramp, just like he says."

"No, look," Lyall said urgently, pulling out his calendar. "The full moon is tomorrow, he has every sign, the hoarse voice, the long nails, he even moves like an animal."

Winn looked at him, and Lyall could tell from her expression that she didn't believe him. He sighed angrily; they'd been right. They couldn't possibly go back on that and just let him go, to attack more people. One of the other committee members started to laugh. "I didn't know werewolves were your specialty, Lupin."

"I'm well versed in all Dark creatures," Lyall snapped. "I'll stay and watch him if you want, but if you let him go, you're going to be putting a lot of people in danger!" Why couldn't they see it?

"Don't know why the rest of us even have jobs, then," someone else said to their neighbor, and the room rang with laughter. Lyall flushed angrily.

"It's not costing you anything to hold him."

Winn rolled her eyes, and a few others laughed from their seats. "You just stick to Welsh boggarts, Lupin, that's what you're good at."

"I know what I'm talking about!" Lyall cried. "Do you want to hear that there's been another attack?" None of them looked like they wanted to believe him, and Greyback took advantage of the lull.

"I just want to go," he said, sounding desperate, "I don't know what you people are talking about...wands, werewolves." Winn nodded, making a decision.

"Come on," she said. "I'm sorry we held you."

Lyall pulled himself up, anger rising in him and he lost control. "You'll be sorry, I guarantee it! He's a werewolf! They're all soulless, evil! They deserve nothing but death! And if he attacks someone, it'll be on you!"

"Someone get him out of here," Winn said, rolling her eyes, and Consell stepped forward and led Lyall from the room. As he passed by Greyback, for one second, the mask dropped, and the werewolf glared at him so viciously that Lyall was momentarily shaken before going back to being angry at Winn. Greyback had all but confirmed it himself, why wouldn't they listen to him?

"Merlin's beard, Lyall, calm down," Consell said as Lyall glared at him, watching as the rest of the Committee left and Winn led Greyback down the corridor. "You'd think you were the one he attacked."

Lyall straightened his robes, "I can't stand a werewolf. Monsters." He shook his head.

"Yeah, I know," Consell said. "But he's not, Lyall, I'm sure of it. Come on, the full moon's tomorrow. He probably wouldn't even be able to walk if he was."

"Hmm, we'll wait and see who's right," Lyall said, knowing full well he would probably never know. He looked up as Winn came back, looking harassed. "What happened?"

She sighed, "I sent him to the Obliviators, but there was a scuffle. He must have had a couple of friends they left outside. They got the better of the team."

Lyall stared at her, "What? How did three unarmed people get the better of a team of Obliviators?"

"Well, it wasn't a whole team, was it?" she asked peevishly. "I didn't think it would take more than two of them. Obviously, I was wrong."

Lyall glared at her and said, "Yes, you were. But since you obviously don't need me, I think I'll go. I promised my son I'd spend the day with him." He turned on his heel and stalked out, ignoring the rolled eyes he was sure were following him.

"They let him go!" he ranted to Hope later, after she'd put Remus to bed, happy that his dad had come home early and built a snowman with him. "I could see it in his eyes, Hope, they were absolutely soulless. It'll be on them if he attacks someone." He shook his head. Ignorance like this was why things like this continued to be a danger. Some innocent person was going to suffer for this, and then become the same kind of monster themselves, a danger to everyone. He could have stopped it, if they'd only listened to him, he thought, glaring at the wall.

"Are you sure he was a werewolf though?" Hope asked. She looked up with interest; she always liked hearing about his work. "Aren't they just people who turn into wolves at the full moon?"

Lyall sighed, "No, there's rather more to it than that. There's behaviors, almost animalistic, and a certain look - ill, sort of wild. You can tell, if you study them for long enough, but of course, almost no one does, because you can't stay around them for more than a month at a time, if even that long. Vicious things." He shook his head. "One of the most dangerous Dark creatures of all, really. Imagine, the uncontrolled aggression of a predator combined with nearly human intelligence."

Hope furrowed her brows. "Why wasn't anyone else able to tell, though? If you're all experts, shouldn't they have recognized him for what he was too?"

Lyall scowled. "Yes, they should have. But most people don't pay any attention to the twenty-eight days a werewolf isn't transformed. Only the one night they are. We'll never catch any of them that way, and they'll just keep on being a danger."

"All right, calm down," Hope finally said. "You'll probably never hear about this Fenrir Greyback again. Let's start thinking about Remus's birthday."

Lyall stared at her, "That's not for two months!"

"You need to concentrate on something happy," Hope said firmly. "And it's never too early, is it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus was bitten shortly before his fifth birthday, which would have been March 10, 1965. It seems likely to assume that the attack would have taken place on the full moon of February 16, 1965. According to Lupin's Pottermore biography, Lyall Lupin insulted Greyback in early 1965, 24 hours before the next full moon, which was on January 17, 1965. Hence the date of this story :)


	5. Consequences

February 16, 1965

Lyall heard the crash, waking up from the noise, but it sounded far away. He started getting up slowly to investigate, all the while listening further, for some other noise to tell him what was going on.

"What was that, dear?" Hope asked sleepily next to him.

"I-" Lyall started, then he was instantly wide awake as he heard the scream. Hope jumped out of bed after him and they both ran down the hall without looking at each other. Lyall threw open the door to Remus's bedroom, horrified by what greeted him. Remus, lying on the floor. A huge wolf on top of him. Blood everywhere. Lyall didn't stop to think, only pulled out his wand. "Hope, stay back!" he cried, before throwing every curse he knew at the wolf until it was driven back through the broken window. He turned back around, prepared for the worst. He knew. He knew that had been a werewolf; he'd seen the tufted tail as it escaped. He knew it was too late, although when he turned around and saw the bite mark on Remus's shoulder, bleeding all over what was left of his pajamas, Lyall still felt his stomach drop to the floor. He hadn't thought it was possible to feel so much horror; in all his worst nightmares he had never seen anything like this. "Oh, God, no. Not that," he whispered to himself as he knelt to get a better look. He winced; in addition to the bite on Remus's shoulder, the wolf had scratched him deeply on his stomach and his arm.

Remus took a weak, shuddering breath as he cried, and Hope ran in. She sat on the floor in front of Lyall and held Remus on her lap, trying to stop the bleeding. "What was that?" she asked, looking up at Lyall desperately.

"That was a werewolf," Lyall heard himself say slowly. His voice sounded calm, clinical, and he didn't know how, because his thought process had now screeched to a halt. He looked at Hope and saw dawning horror on her face. Remus stirred weakly and Lyall steeled himself. Remus was alive, and Lyall knew exactly what needed to be done. Dittany, and silver. Now. I can't seal those wounds myself. "We need to get to St. Mungo's, now," he said forcefully, picking Remus up. "He'll live, if we can get there fast enough." He'll be a werewolf, a little voice in Lyall's head reminded him.

I know, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat as Remus's head lolled against his shoulder. Lyall pulled himself together, not thinking beyond the next moment.

"At St. Mungo's, they can cure him?" Hope asked. When he didn't answer, her voice became more urgent. "Lyall, is there a cure?!"

Lyall simply grabbed her hand, feeling Remus become dead weight in his arms as he slipped into unconsciousness. "Hang on, son, I've got you," he whispered into Remus's ear. "It will-" and then broke off, the horror becoming ten times worse. He couldn't say that. It would never be all right, not now, and he wouldn't lie to his son, not if it might be the last thing he'd ever say to him, and he blinked back the tears that suddenly appeared in the corner of his eyes. He threw some Floo powder into the fireplace and left so quickly that later he was astonished they'd actually made it to the right place.

He didn't think the whole attack had lasted more than five minutes.

They arrived in the waiting room of St. Mungo's, only a few other people waiting there, and Lyall let go of Hope's hand, running toward the Welcome Witch. "My - my son, he's been bitten by a werewolf," Lyall said helplessly, and almost instantly two Healers arrived and one of them took Remus out of his arms.

"We'll do what we can," the other Healer said, "But just to warn you, he may not make it through the night." Lyall swallowed, thinking to himself, please, just save him, but he couldn't make the words form. The Healer seemed to understand just from the panic on his face, because she nodded before following her colleague. Lyall took a deep breath, trying to force himself to calm down, when he became aware of Hope still standing near him, watching him in desperation. She had asked, he remembered.

"No," he said quietly. "There's no cure."

Lyall watched her crumple into the chair, sobbing heavily and he sat down next to her, all his energy gone. The few others in the waiting room shook their heads and went back to their own business. Every so often Lyall looked over at Hope but he couldn't find it in himself to say anything to her. What could he possibly say that would make this better? He tried to take her hand, once, but she snatched it back and he let it go. After the initial horror, all other thoughts had been driven out of his head, leaving room for only one.

This was his fault.

The werewolf they'd caught a month ago, the one that he'd called soulless and evil. Somehow, he'd managed to track Lyall down, realized that it would be a far worse punishment to attack his young son rather than Lyall himself, and done exactly that. Why wouldn't he attack me? Why Remus? He's only four. I should have realized, should have done something. And then, I should never have said anything; should have stuck to boggarts like Consell said.

Lyall pushed those thoughts aside roughly; he would have plenty of time to upbraid himself, later, for the rest of his life. He looked at the door they had taken Remus through worriedly. No Healer had appeared to update them, and the same circular thoughts began running through his head with no respite.

He could be dead.

What will we do if he is?

What will we do if he isn't?

He'll be a werewolf.

That makes no difference to me.

If he gets out, he'll attack you. He'll kill Hope, his own mother.

I won't let him.

How will you stop him?

I can do this.

What if you can't?

He's my son.

He's a werewolf.

It makes. NO. Difference.

On and on until Lyall buried his face in his hands and tried desperately to block out everything. The sun had risen outside the windows by the time a Healer finally came back in.

"Who brought the werewolf bite in?" she asked, and Hope gasped. Lyall pulled himself together, wondering if that was all anyone would ever see anymore.

"We did," he said, then tentatively asked, "Is he-?"

"We sealed the wounds," the Healer said. "You brought him in very quickly. That probably saved his life."

"So he'll-" Hope started, looking like she was hardly able to say it.

"Oh, he'll live," the Healer said. "Getting the wounds sealed is the hardest part."

"Yes, they don't heal easily," Lyall said absently. Seeing the Healer's look, he added, "Dark creatures are my specialty." He stepped back, another wave of horror hitting him as Hope glared at him. That is Remus I'm talking about. A Dark creature. My little Remus.

"Hmm, that's why you were able to get him here so quickly; it usually takes longer to drive the werewolf away," the Healer said, sounding a little impressed. "I can take you upstairs, if you want." She led them to the first floor, the Dai Llewellyn ward for bites, burns and other injuries caused by magical creatures, keeping up an explanation the whole time. "We don't usually lose patients once the wounds are sealed; the change is meant to happen, so he should make it from here." Her gaze turned sympathetic for the first time. "You're an expert, so you know…?"

"Yes," Lyall said heavily. "There's nothing you can do." He started to feel relief flood through him - he's going to live! - then wondered if he was completely horrible for being glad about that. He settled for a numb silence as they entered the ward, and went to the last bed, where Remus was seemingly asleep. Lyall felt his heart break, there was a huge bandage on Remus's shoulder, and every so often he shifted, whimpering. He gently stroked Remus's hair, feeling how much warmer he was already (a wolf's body temperature is higher than a human's, a nasty, academic voice in his head said) and he shook his head. Oh, Remus, I'm so sorry.

The Healer brought two chairs over. "We don't usually let patients' families stay overnight, but you're in for a long wait."

"What do you mean?" Hope asked. She was holding onto Remus's hand, looking lost, and Lyall closed his eyes, hardly able to watch. My fault, my fault, my fault.

"It usually takes about two weeks, for the change to take place," the Healer said.

There was a pause, and then Hope said stonily, "You mean the change from human to werewolf."

"Yes," the Healer said, sounding subdued. "I'm sorry." She backed up, leaving the room, and Hope turned to Lyall.

"Do you still think," she asked coldly. "that werewolves are soulless, evil and deserve nothing but death?"

Lyall concentrated on the phrase, wincing, remembering the last time he'd said it. He watched Remus for a few seconds, trying to attach the word werewolf to him, and coming up only with my son. If he hadn't said that, hadn't lost his temper, none of this would be happening, and for a moment, the guilt that he didn't know how he would ever live with threatened to overwhelm him. But he couldn't dwell on that, wouldn't dwell on it, not when there was so much else that needed to be done. Now that he knew Remus would live, it was as if everything he'd ever known had been upended. Nothing else was important anymore; only ensuring that they would be able to keep Remus with them safely, to protect him from the Ministry and from the wider wizarding world that would have no compassion for a small boy who had never chosen to be a werewolf. It had never even occurred to Lyall to do anything else. He thought of all the stories he had heard, how vicious werewolves were, and his only reaction now was a hardened, grieved determination - Remus will not be like that. He had no evidence to prove it, but something in him just refused to believe that such a sweet, thoughtful little boy could change so utterly. Even if he did, Lyall thought, it didn't matter. He'd already decided he would raise Remus to adulthood no matter what, and nothing would change his mind about that. But it might, just might be, that he had been wrong, and all his desperate hopes clung onto that. He finally looked over at Hope and shook his head. "No, of course I don't," he said quietly. "I can't believe I ever did."

Hope didn't speak to him at all for the next three days. Lyall didn't blame her; wouldn't have blamed her if she never spoke to him again. They nonetheless sat there next to the bed in silence, each refusing to be the first to leave. Lyall finally went and got a room at the Leaky Cauldron, sent an owl to the office to tell them he wouldn't be in, then went back to the house and brought back almost every item of clothing they owned before returning to the hospital. Hope watched him go and come back without saying anything, although he thought he sensed a kind of angry approval when he returned. Perhaps she'd thought he wouldn't come back.

Without saying one word to each other, they developed a schedule so they could take turns returning to the Leaky Cauldron to clean up and change their robes before coming back. Neither was ever gone for more than half an hour, and never together. Lyall also brought back every book he owned on Dark creatures, and on werewolves in particular, and then went and bought more. He would need to know what he was doing, and he needed something to concentrate on besides Hope's steady anger.

But on Friday night, a new Healer came up to them and said, "I'm sorry, we have official visiting hours. I know we haven't insisted on it, but you're going to have to leave and come back tomorrow."

Hope stood up, the anger coming off her in waves. "The official hours can go hang. I am not leaving."

"But-" the new Healer said. "The rules…"

Lyall glanced around at the full ward around them. He was hit by the thought that he didn't know what someone might decide to do to a young, unprotected werewolf, and steeled himself. "You heard my wife," he said forcefully, standing up next to her. "Our rule is that we're never leaving our son alone here, and I will take it up with the hospital director if you want."

The Healer looked between them, realized they were deadly serious and nodded uncertainly. "A-all right. I suppose as long as you're not bothering anybody."

Hope and Lyall glared after her, sitting back down and catching each other's eyes for the first time in days. Lyall quickly looked away, afraid she was going to finally start screaming at him (it's no more than you deserve, the voice in his head said). Hope glanced back at him, and then sighed.

"You told me," she finally said, still sounding angry, "that werewolves were monsters, even when it wasn't the full moon. That they were vicious, ready to kill at all times."

"It might be," Lyall said, as if he'd been waiting to have this conversation for the past three days, and maybe he had been, "that I was wrong about that." He had been studying frantically, trying to find out all he could, but he'd been pushing off studying anything other than how to keep a werewolf contained and cared for, knowing that the practicalities had to come first, and afraid that if he went further, he would only confirm that all his hopes were in vain.

"And if you aren't?" Hope asked.

"Then I will raise him anyway," Lyall said flatly. "Even if he tries to maul me to death every day. I owe him that." Much of what he'd read had already confirmed how difficult it would be, but to his surprise, it only strengthened his resolve. He looked at Remus, looking so small in that huge bed, and finally lost control, as if he'd been waiting for Hope to start talking so he knew he could. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. "Oh, God, Hope, it's all my fault. He'll never be the same, even if I was wrong about - them. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Pull yourself together," Hope whispered forcefully. "He will need you. I need you."

Lyall looked up at her, "But-"

Hope looked at him, "How would he have found us? This - Greyback?"

Lyall thought for a moment, glad to have something else to concentrate on. "In the middle of the argument, someone, I don't know who, told me to 'stick to Welsh boggarts, Lupin.' He must have heard my surname, and -and tracked down my book. It says we live in Aberystwyth, after all."

"So," Hope said, sounding less angry now. "After a month, he, what? Tracked you down, using nothing but your surname?"

"He would have had to ask around," Lyall said, feeling the faint stirrings of hope, which he'd never thought he'd feel again. Hope was speaking to him. "Find someone that could either tell him, or gave him the book. Traveled there, asked around for which house was ours, scoped us out. Realized I even have a child. Figured out which - which window to position himself near." It was a lot of effort, Lyall realized. It would have taken weeks just to find someone who knew who he was.

"That's a lot of work," Hope said, reading his thoughts. "Just to get back at someone who insulted him?"

Lyall could tell what she was getting at; that Greyback was the one who had decided to go on the attack, making it his fault. Lyall could even agree, objectively. Emotionally, it was an entirely different issue; every time he looked at Remus the guilt settled in his stomach to the point where he thought he might be sick. To Hope he muttered, "Greyback is cruel, savage, regardless of what werewolves in general are or aren't." He felt like all his hatred had been channeled into hating Greyback, instead of all werewolves. They couldn't all be like that, could they?

"And then there's everyone in your office who wouldn't believe you," Hope said. "And those - those idiots who couldn't do a simple Memory Charm." She started sniffling and finally broke down, crying, never taking her eyes off Remus. "Why Remus, Lyall? Why would he attack a four-year-old to get back at you?"

"Poetic irony," Lyall said bitterly. "He knew exactly what I thought about him. He probably thought it would be a fitting punishment for me to decide whether to abandon my four-year-old or raise a werewolf." He laughed mirthlessly, "I'm sure you noticed that the Healer that night asked us whether we wanted to come upstairs to see him. Do you know how many families would have said no?" He picked up another book. "But as far as I'm concerned, there is no choice."

"What's that?" Hope asked tentatively. "You've been reading the entire last three days."

Lyall showed her the book title shyly, wondering if there might be even a chance that she wouldn't hate him forever. "It's going to be...different, now. I told you there was more to it than just the monthly transformation. I need to know what spells to use to keep him contained, what to do for him afterward, what will be different about him the rest of the time. I have two weeks to learn all I need to know."

"You mean we, don't you?" Hope asked, pulling another book from the pile at his feet. "I'm going to need to know all this too, aren't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I invented the part where Lyall Lupin wrote a book (obviously on boggarts). It seems the sort of thing a Dark creatures expert would do.
> 
> The two week period in which the change takes place comes from Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 22. When Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, he was sharing the ward with a newly bitten werewolf, and the Healers spent time the morning everyone visited reassuring this patient about the type of life he would have. But Mr. Weasley also said specifically that it was still two weeks until the next full moon, meaning that the man in the ward was attacked nearly two weeks prior. It seemed to me that for this to be the first chance the Healers had to discuss this with their patient, he would have only just woken up, meaning that a werewolf attack must result in something like a coma for nearly two weeks.


	6. Picking up the Pieces

February 28, 1965

With no other path in front of them, Lyall and Hope began trying to settle back into something resembling their old selves, both silently agreeing never to mention Fenrir Greyback again. Lyall could hardly believe that she seemed to have forgiven him, but was too absurdly grateful to question it. He’d never forgive himself, he knew that, but to do it alone seemed too much to ask.

Now they worked in tandem, their heads together over the books, ignoring the odd looks they were getting from the other occupants of the ward. Lyall couldn’t help but notice how many of those looks were already turning into glares, and he sighed. Get used to it, Lupin, he said to himself, as they made notes of things that seemed accurate - “the week before the full moon is marked by poor health, including chills, nausea and fatigue” - and shaking their heads over things they refused to believe - “the soul of the werewolf is forever tarnished, marked by the Dark magic within.” Each time they read something like that, Lyall closed the book in question in despair and moved on. The thought that he would never see Remus smile at him again, excitedly run to meet him when he came home, ask to read a story, was too much to bear.

Gradually, as he read, he started realizing how much his beliefs had changed without him even noticing. “Of course they’re dangerous!” he said in an angry whisper to Hope one day, after reading a book in which the author declared all werewolves too dangerous to be allowed even outside a cage. “If no one’s controlling them, what else can they be?” The one thing everything told him, that did seem to be correct, was how difficult it would be to keep Remus contained, especially as he grew older. None of the cases Lyall and Hope had read about involved a child so young, and he was quickly realizing how long he would have to stay in top form. It was daunting, and all he could think was what if I fail?

Lyall looked over at Hope, her head buried in a book of case studies. He looked down at his own book, but he felt as if the thoughts and worries were running through his head in circles, preventing him from concentrating on anything he needed to know. He put the book down and sighed, looking at Remus, still unconscious in the hospital bed. Remus, he thought. How horribly apt. “What is it?” Hope asked, pulling Lyall out of his reverie.

“The Naming Seer,” Lyall said, turning to look at her. “When Remus was born. He saw this.” Even though the hints of Remus's future all those years ago had been vague, the knowledge that they had been forewarned made everything worse. They should have known. But it had seemed impossible, as Remus grew into a healthy, happy boy, that any of the terrible hints the Seer had given them could lead to something true. Something like this. Lyall had proceeded to happily forget about anything the Seer had said. He’d always thought the tradition of the Naming Seer meant nothing, that Divination as a branch of magic was largely nonsense anyway. Another thing I was wrong about, he thought bitterly. His own name now made perfect sense; the Seer his parents had visited had seen this in Lyall's future so long ago. Was it always fated to happen, that this would be Remus’s life? Why?

Hope swallowed and followed his gaze. “We can’t do this, Lyall,” she said.

“What do you mean, we can’t?” Lyall said sharply, bristling instantly. 

“No, no,” Hope said hastily. “I mean...rehash everything. Every time we could have done something differently. What if we had listened to the Seer? What if we hadn’t taken him to the Seer at all? What if we’d built an upstairs on the house?” She looked back at him, her expression hopeless. “What if you hadn’t lost your temper? You see? None of that matters now; it won’t change anything.”

She was right, Lyall realized. The only thing they could do now was what they were already doing - making sure they would be able to raise Remus safely. There was, as he was horribly aware, nothing else they could do. There was nothing that could undo this.

Unless there is, Lyall thought, in a flash of inspiration. He knew better than anyone how few people studied werewolves, how little correct information there was. Even the wizards who worked for the Werewolf Registry, the supposed experts, couldn’t recognize a werewolf if they saw one. He’d always been taught there was no cure for a werewolf bite, but why, he thought suddenly, should he believe that? Given what he’d learned recently about the life of a werewolf and how most people viewed them, nobody would be very much inclined to make a remedy easily available, and anyone who did would find themselves on the outskirts of wizarding society quicker than you could say “Quidditch.” That meant there might be a chance, a slim one, but something he could do, and he looked at Hope, feeling some of the weight lift off of him. 

“You’re right,” he said, feeling profoundly grateful that she was willing to stand by him after everything, and attempting a small smile. “Anything useful?” he asked, nodding to her book of case studies. 

"No, they’re all about adults," Hope said, shaking her head and sounding desperate. "Isn’t there any information about people bitten as children? Doesn’t anyone know if there are any long-term health effects, or anything extra we should do?" She sat back, anger replacing the desperation. “None of these even tell you how to take care of someone like this. Just how to get rid of them.”

Lyall shook his head, "I - I don't know." He wished he could tell her something different, but there were few accounts of werewolf children, beyond the endless litany of deaths in attacks (he suspected that more than half of these parents had allowed their child to die rather than live as a werewolf and shuddered). Those few they had found all ended the same way: the family murdered, either accidentally or, sometimes, as intentional revenge by the young werewolf they had abandoned. Lyall frowned, then said quietly, “No wonder they hate us, Hope. Look at all of this. Abandoned by their families, driven out of any town they try to go to, knowing the only thing the Ministry would do is lock them up. It’s enough to make anyone lash out.” No wonder most werewolves banded together in forests, suspicious of wizards and not making much effort to control themselves.

Hope sighed. “I know. You’d think someone would realize that.”

“I didn’t,” Lyall said. “This was my specialty and I didn’t give werewolves a second thought, not until it was too late.” Until I became the father of one. 

When they weren’t researching, Lyall searched the listings in the Daily Prophet for a house that was sufficiently isolated, knowing they would have to leave their current home, and would only be able to stay in any place for a few months. He tried desperately not to let on what was going on when he visited each one, but he hadn’t truly slept in what felt like weeks, and felt like everyone was watching him, the man who had caused his son to be attacked by a werewolf.

"I wouldn’t go through all this,” the man sitting by his wife (dragon bite) in the next bed remarked one day, watching Hope and Lyall poring over a map of rural Scotland, looking for a place to build a house, if possible. “He’ll end up killing you all, just watch.”

“Why don’t you stick to making sure your wife’s hand doesn’t fall off?” Hope shot back, and Lyall stifled a giggle, the first since the attack.

A Healer came by once March started, and sat down gravely next to them.

“Well, I don’t have to tell you most of what I usually do in these situations,” she started heavily. “Your career means you already know most of it; what the transformations will be like, the behavioral changes, the lupine tendencies, correct?”

“Yes,” Lyall said. “We’re searching for a house where he’ll be able to transform safely. We’re prepared, or as prepared as we’re going to be.”

The Healer sighed, “Look, Mr. Lupin, I know you’re probably more prepared than others would be, but I must emphasize how difficult this will be.”

“I know how difficult this will be,” Lyall said, glaring.

“But this is a very unusual case,” the Healer insisted. “Children this young don’t usually survive, you will have years of doing this entirely on your own. With a Muggle in the house,” she added, looking at Hope. “Are you sure you’re capable of that? Because if you’re not - and I usually don’t suggest this - I highly recommend you bring the Ministry in, before he becomes a danger to everyone.”

Hope and Lyall looked at each other in panic, and Lyall said slowly, ”Do you mean that I should simply hand my four-year-old to the Ministry, to be locked up for the rest of his life? He has done nothing!” He thought of Remus excitedly sounding out words in a new book, throwing a snowball at him the day after he’d nearly caught Greyback, hugging them both in thanks after they’d given him his Christmas gifts a few months back. He couldn’t do that, no matter what. “I will not even consider that! How dare you suggest such a thing?”

The Healer stared at him as if he was speaking Troll. “You know he'll be different, so much you may not even know him anymore,” she said. When Lyall glared at her, she sighed, “Well, I can’t contact the Ministry without your consent, so all I can do is urge you to reconsider. If you won’t, then I wish you luck.”

Lyall glared at her, then said, “I want a different Healer.”

The Healer bristled, “I am the expert on werewolf bites, Mr. Lupin.”

Lyall didn’t move, or change his expression, “I don’t care. I want a Healer who won’t see my son as a problem to be solved.”

“Fine,” the Healer said, stalking back through the ward and leaving. Lyall and Hope sat there and ignored the looks they were getting, Lyall fuming, surprising himself with the vehemence of his reaction. I guess that shows how much my opinions have changed.

“Can you believe that? A Healer? Suggesting that he be locked up for no real reason!”

Hope, to his astonishment, started to smile, and he looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing, just...you were incredible,” she said. “I love you, Lyall Lupin.”

Lyall smiled, but then began looking up the laws. He wasn’t terribly surprised to find that what they were planning was completely and utterly illegal, and sighed. Just add running from the Ministry to the list of things I’ll need to do from now on.

“Lyall,” Hope asked, after a few hours, as if she’d only just thought of it. “He’s still a wizard, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” Lyall said, knowing how happy Hope had been once he started showing signs of magic. “Yes, unlike merpeople or centaurs, werewolves and vampires retain their magical ability, since they start out…”

“Human,” Hope finished, and they both glanced at Remus. “He’s still a person, Lyall, you’re the one who said that. ‘You don’t have to be human to be a person.’”

“True,” Lyall said, saddened at how quickly they had accepted that.

“But, you said Greyback...he didn’t have a wand,” Hope said.

Lyall stroked his beard, thinking it over. “Well, the one consistency we’ve found, with those who are bitten young, is that they often are never taught magic. Greyback must have been young as well.” He avoided saying the reason, even though Hope knew it as well as he did: because they were so often abandoned. He sat back dejectedly, realizing suddenly the full extent of what this meant. “We won’t be able to send him to Hogwarts.” 

Hope’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Lyall, after everything you’ve told me about Hogwarts.”

“I know,” Lyall said softly. Hogwarts was the birthright of every magical child in Britain, and now Remus would never be able to go. “There isn’t a parent in Britain who will want their child sharing a dormitory with him,” Lyall said. “And where would he transform, without being a danger to everyone?”

“But,” Hope said, “you said he’ll need to be able to put charms on, to keep from attacking anyone. How will he do that if he can’t learn magic? How will he defend himself?”

Lyall looked at Remus, thinking hard. He still had his old schoolbooks, his old cauldron. He was well-versed in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms; he’d very nearly been the top of his class. “It’s not...required, to send your child to Hogwarts,” Lyall said slowly. “Most people do, of course, but there are always some who don’t. I can give him the same education at home. He’ll be a wizard, Hope. No son of mine is growing up without learning magic.” His tone grew determined, and for the first time, he felt like he could do this.


	7. Determination

March 8, 1965

"I'll be back, Remus, before you even notice," Lyall said to the small figure in the bed, so thin and still looking green and ill, clutching his birthday teddy bear, which he'd named Claude, to his chest. Lyall supposed he would look ill like that from now on; and his stomach squirmed guiltily. He wondered if he'd ever be able to look at Remus again without feeling like the guilt was eating him alive. My fault, my fault, my fault.

"You promise?" Remus asked, eyes on Lyall's face. Lyall forced the guilt aside and smiled, hoping it seemed natural for Remus's sake. He'd been watching his son, awake now for four days, carefully, and he was sure now that he'd been correct. The change was a purely physical one, changing nothing of who a person was. How could I not have known that? Lyall asked himself in despair.

But the evidence was clear; Remus as a werewolf was the same clever, good-natured boy he'd always been. His emotional state in tatters, Lyall hardly knew whether to be grateful that they hadn't lost everything that night, or to grieve that this same gentle, innocent child would now have to live through the excruciating transformation every month. Most of the time, he did both, but the more time he spent at Remus's bedside, his determination only grew stronger. There was nothing he wouldn't do anymore, if it meant he could raise Remus safely.

"I absolutely promise, Remus. I just have to go tell everyone at work that I'm staying home with you and your mum from on, and then I'll be right back," Lyall said. He was dreading returning to the department, even to quit, but he couldn't possibly return to work. He'd failed Remus once; he was determined never to do it again.

Remus watched him for a second and then nodded. "OK." Lyall patted his hand gently and headed out, passing Hope as she came back in.

"How is he?" she asked.

"How could he be?" Lyall said hopelessly. "He's still himself, though, that wasn't a leftover from before. If his personality was going to change, it would have done it already. Let's just be grateful for that." He didn't know what else they could do, at the moment, besides hang on to whatever gratitude they could. Hope, however, nodded and sighed. "How are you?" Lyall asked in concern.

Hope smiled with an obvious effort. "I'll be alright. Remus is what's important now." She looked down. "It's…hard, thinking of him as a werewolf," she said slowly. "It was one thing while we were reading, while he was unconscious, but now that he's awake…" Lyall nodded; he knew what she meant. Remus was so clearly still their little boy. "I suppose after a while it won't be, will it? That'll just be what Remus is," Hope said finally.

"Unless we find a cure. I haven't given up," he reminded her and she nodded. He had added possible cures and remedies to their reading list, although he hadn't had much luck yet. He knew that anyone who did have something would be hidden, difficult to find, but Lyall remained determined (or perhaps it was desperate, he couldn't tell the difference anymore). In any case, when he'd finally told Hope that he thought he might find something that could help, she had looked hopeful for the first time in weeks. Now Lyall sighed and went on, "Speaking of that, I need to go tell the office I'm resigning."

"You didn't quit yet?" Hope asked in some surprise. They hadn't exactly planned this, but they both knew it was the only way.

"I've been putting it off, I suppose," he admitted. "I didn't want to face them so soon after...all those people who wouldn't listen to me. I thought it'd be better if I waited." He paused, then said, "It won't be. I'm sure of it."

"Well, it's probably best to get it over with," Hope said. "We'll be here when you get back." She didn't ask about what they would do for money; they would have to figure that out later, and he smiled, gripped her arm gently and left.

He swept outside, Disapparating in a second and reappearing in the Ministry. He took a deep breath, resolving to make this go as quickly as possible. He made his way to the lift, wishing it wasn't a Monday so he didn't have to do this in front of everyone, and barely aware of the looks he was attracting. All too soon, Lyall was in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (he passed the Werewolf Capture Unit on his way and suppressed a shudder, as if they could sense it on him) and he exhaled, pushing open the door.

The office was full of the usual bustle, people discussing daily business, some laughing over cups of tea. Lyall couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed or had a real cup of tea, and it seemed unbelievable to him that there was still a world where those things took place, a world beyond a hospital bed in St. Mungo's. The people nearest the door looked up, and their eyes widened when they realized who he was. Lyall knew what he must look like. Exhausted, thin, his robes rumpled from days spent slumped in a chair next to Remus's bed (he'd changed them recently, he was sure), his thoughts haunted both by what had happened and what was coming.

He made his way directly to the Head of Department's office, holding his head high, seeing people nudge each other as he passed. The whispers followed him.

"Lupin's back?"

"Did you hear what happened?"

"I heard he fought it off."

"Yeah, but his son...the boy was only four."

"He's still alive, I heard."

"Merlin's beard, I think that's worse."

"Do you know what he's going to do?"

"What else can he do?"

Lyall ignored them, knowing that he deserved to hear every word and knowing as well that this was barely a fraction of what Remus was going to hear for the rest of his life, striding directly into the Head's office. Winn was in there, conferring with Head of Department Ryan, and they both looked up in annoyance as Lyall came in, their expressions changing to shock when they saw him.

Winn hurried out, and Lyall glared at her. Coward, he thought.

"Lupin," Ryan said quietly. "I was wondering when you'd be back. We heard what happened. I'm - I'm so sorry."

Lyall didn't answer, saying instead, "I'm only back to give in my resignation. I can't stay, not after-" his voice started to break, and he pulled himself together. "My family needs me," he said finally.

Ryan looked up, "You can't be serious, Lupin. You're keeping him?"

For heaven's sake, you don't have to make it sound like he's a dog, Lyall thought, glaring at Ryan. "He is my son."

Ryan stared at him. "Lyall, your wife's a Muggle."

"I am very, very aware of that," Lyall said, slowly and deliberately. "Are you going to continue to state the obvious, or can I go? I need to get back to the hospital."

Ryan sighed, looking out the door, "We put Greyback's name on the Register. I thought you'd want to know. Apparently he's been connected to several attacks on children. He seems to like them young - he usually waits to see if the parents abandon them so he can raise them in a pack, make them hate wizards. We did our research, this time." He glanced away to avoid the force of Lyall's glare. "Vicious creature."

Lyall was ready to angrily demand if Ryan thought Remus was the same as Greyback, but then he realized it was a warning. Greyback might be back to try and finish the job, and Lyall resolved to move them to the new house as quickly as possible. There was a likely possibility near the Scottish border. He looked at Ryan and said determinedly, "Well, he will not be getting Remus." Lyall thought fiercely that he would rather die than let Remus live in the woods like an animal, and lose any chance he had of becoming a wizard.

Ryan nodded, and as Lyall turned to go, he said, "I, er, I won't put Remus's name on the Register. Now I can't make any promises, if I start to hear about uncontrolled attacks that might be traced to him, but until then, I'll try and keep the Capture Unit off your trail."

Lyall nodded stiffly as he headed out the door. "There will be no attacks. But...thank you. I appreciate that." He closed the door, aware that the entire department was staring at him, and he made his way to his desk, conjured a box out of thin air and started cleaning out his drawers.

Consell was the first to approach him, followed by several people from the vampire department. "Lyall, I'm - I'm sorry. We heard."

Lyall sighed. "He's not dead." Somewhere, underneath it all, he was still incredibly happy about that, and he clung to the feeling in the midst of everything else. That Remus was alive and still recognizably himself was all Lyall asked for anymore. He pictured having to arrange a funeral instead and shuddered. No, he was grateful it wasn't that.

One of the other wizards scoffed, "Might as well be, though." Lyall pulled out his wand so fast he hardly even knew he was doing it.

"One more word about my son and you can join him in St. Mungo's," he said heatedly. The other wizard stepped back, and Consell watched him closely.

"You've changed your tune, I see. What happened to 'soulless and evil'?"

"What was I supposed to do? Abandon him?" Lyall snapped. Then he sighed, calming down. "I was...wrong about that," he said heavily. The phrase had been ringing through his head since the attack, and he wished he never had to hear it again. He looked up at Consell shrewdly. "Not just for saying it...wrong, entirely. Remus is the same as he's always been. I can't believe that there's anything different about his soul." He picked up the family picture that had sat on his desk, watching Remus as he had been. Healthy, happy, hugging Lyall around his neck. Lyall threw the picture into the box, and sat down heavily, all the ways their lives would change hitting him all at once. Remus would never be that boy in the picture again. Lyall was no longer sure, although he didn't say it aloud, that he and Hope would even be able to see Remus grow up. It seemed so far away and he settled for wondering if it would be an overreaction to destroy every picture of Remus that existed from before the attack, so they wouldn't have to be reminded. Consell looked at him in concern, pulled his chair over and gently gripped Lyall's shoulder.

"Merlin's beard, Lyall, you look terrible."

"I haven't been home in weeks and I just had to explain to my four-year-old that he's no longer human," Lyall snapped. "That each month he'll live through hell, become something no one can be near and that it will never stop. How am I supposed to look?"

"It'll be all right, Lyall," Consell said comfortingly. "You can do it."

"Yes, but can he?" Lyall asked desperately. "He turns five in two days, Consell. Did you know he's one of the youngest cases the Healers have ever seen? If he'd been any younger he'd certainly be dead now, no matter how quickly I'd brought him in. They tell me he probably won't remember anything else - think about that: he will not even remember being human, as far as he's concerned he'll always have been a werewolf."

Now Consell visibly winced, and Lyall looked up at him hopelessly. "That doesn't even count what everyone thinks of him. Do you want your daughter near him?"

The silence told Lyall everything he needed to know, and he laughed bitterly. "I didn't think so. Thank you, for trying to help, but I'm on my own. I know that." The rest of the office was trying not to watch too curiously, and Lyall pulled himself together and picked up the box, wanting only to get back to the hospital, and to Hope and Remus. He started to leave, only to be stopped by Winn. He glared at her. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Lyall, I'm," Winn closed her eyes and gathered her thoughts. "I'm sorry."

"You had better be," Lyall snapped. "If you had listened to me, none of this would be happening." He looked around, knowing that while everyone would offer sympathy, all of them were thinking the same thing: at least it wasn't us.

One of the other wizards in the background rolled his eyes, "You were the one that called him soulless and evil and said he deserved to die."

"Don't you think I would give anything to be able to take that back?" Lyall snapped, the anguish in his voice making it less biting than he'd intended. "Or are you saying that a four-year-old deserved to pay the price for my stupidity?"

"None of us wanted that," Winn said angrily.

Lyall looked her in the eye. "I want to make sure you know your part. Because God knows I know mine. Remus…" is everything to me, Lyall thought but he didn't say that, only took a deep breath and continued, "It is far more than I deserve to have him alive, but he's the one who has to bear the brunt of this. I'm the one who has to face him every day, knowing that I did this to him. Hope is the one who has to live in fear of her own son." The bitterness rose up, and somewhere, Lyall thought to himself that it was better he get it out now, rather than later

Winn gasped, "She's staying? He'll kill her!"

"Do any of you realize what you're saying?" Lyall asked, somewhat in shock. "Because you're all astonished that Hope and I are going to do our best to raise our son, regardless of what happened. Am I supposed to understand that all my co-workers somehow think it's acceptable for parents to abandon their four-year-old child?" He glanced around; none of them looked back at him, and he sighed. That was obviously exactly what it meant, and he shook his head.

Winn swallowed, dropped the subject and simply said, "Well, I am sorry. And you're right, I should have listened to you. You obviously did know what you were talking about."

Lyall stared at her for a few seconds before saying, "I suppose we'll see whether I really know what I'm talking about, won't we?" He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and Apparating back to St. Mungo's. He took the time to compose himself before re-entering the ward, breaking into a smile - an effortless, genuine one this time - when he realized Remus was finally sitting up.

"Dad!" he cried, not exactly smiling, but brightening. "You were really fast."

"I said you'd hardly notice I was gone," Lyall said, ruffling his hair. "How would you like to help me out a bit? I have all these things from my office and I haven't looked through them in years. Can you help me figure out what they are?"

Remus nodded, looking a little more interested. He'd always loved Lyall's work with Dark creatures, which had once made Lyall smile. Now, it seemed a cruel irony. "Is the matchbox you trapped the boggart in there?" Remus asked, peeking into the box.

"Maybe," Lyall answered, putting the box on the end of the bed, glad to see Remus at least alert and interested in something. "Let's find out, son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Lyall would have quit his job is something that just makes sense to me. The Lupins' worst fear for most of Remus's pre-Hogwarts childhood was that someone would realize he was a werewolf and call the Ministry in to take him away from them. Lyall was the one who was capable of defending Remus from a mob of their neighbors or a Ministry task force.
> 
> It's my headcanon that Hope would have returned to work in the Muggle world to support them while Lyall stayed home with Remus (also supported by the fact that Lyall intended to educate Remus himself - easier done if he was already a stay-at-home parent). This would have been hard logistically but, I think, much better for them than the thought of leaving Hope alone to face angry groups of fully trained witches and wizards.


	8. (Just Like) (Not) Starting Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from/inspired by the John Lennon song

March 17, 1965

Lyall paced the floors of their new house restlessly, ignoring all the boxes strewn about. He grew more nervous as the light of day faded into evening, dreading the rise of the moon. 6:30, it rises at 6:30, played through Lyall's mind like a mantra he wished he could be rid of. He was certain that they were as prepared as they possibly could be, but he ran through the preparations in his head, just to be sure. He'd cleared the spare room as much as he could; unsure if it would be better to leave furniture there to distract Remus with or to leave it empty so he wouldn't accidentally eat anything. He'd compromised by leaving the larger pieces but removing anything small or made of something soft. He had practiced his Unbreakable Charm until he was positive it would stand up to a rampaging hippogriff, never mind a small werewolf who would likely be the size of a puppy. He had searched out a little known modification to the Silencing Charm which would allow him to cast the charm on the entire room rather than on Remus himself, which would make sure not one sound would escape from the room. Lyall was glad he'd found it; he could not imagine anything worse than going through the werewolf transformation without even being able to scream.

A small, cowardly part of him was immeasurably grateful he would not have to hear his son screaming in agony as the change took place and he hated himself for it.

He could hear Hope in the sitting room, gently stroking Remus's hair and humming a soothing song. Remus himself was lying with his head on her lap, and Lyall swallowed the lump in his throat. Remus's condition had gradually deteriorated throughout the week; he'd started out only feeling slightly chilled and tired. Two days ago, he had become too ill to eat, and by today he was completely listless, apparently burning with fever and unable to do much but lay on the sofa with his teddy bear, which he hadn't let go of once since he'd first gotten it. Lyall had expected all of this; every book had described it accurately, but that didn't make it any easier to watch. He supposed that the day it became routine, a horrible, unbearable routine, would be the day he had given up and resolved never to let that happen.

Hope caught his eye as he approached at around 5:30 in the evening, and he nodded slightly. Hope steeled herself and Lyall knelt down in front of Remus. "Remus?" he asked gently. He'd hoped that Remus might have slept a little, because he certainly wouldn't sleep tonight, but a pair of bright green eyes stared back at him and Lyall sighed. "How are you doing, son?"

"I don't feel good," Remus whimpered, seemingly curling in on himself. "It hurts," he added in a whisper, tears starting to fall down his cheeks.

"Where, love?" Hope asked.

"E-everywhere," Remus answered, his voice catching.

Lyall nodded; he'd expected that, as the moon rose higher. "Listen to me," he said, picking Remus up gently. "After tonight," he started, then stopped to pull himself together. "After tonight, I promise you will start to feel better. And I promise that Mum and I will be just outside the door the entire time." He knew how hollow that must have sounded. There was nothing else he could promise; he couldn't make it any better. There was nothing that could do that, not unless he found a miracle. It seemed to comfort Remus though, because he nodded and hugged Lyall around his neck, allowing the two of them to set him down in the spare room without a fight.

The room was already dark, and Remus looked up at Lyall, his eyes wide with fear. He seemed to be begging them silently to prevent what was about to happen and Lyall swallowed forcefully. If there was any power in the world that could do that, he would have gladly given anything for it. Given anything to be the one the punishment had fallen on. As it was, all he could do was prepare Remus as best he could. He reached out to take Remus's beloved birthday teddy bear. "Here, son, give me Claude. I'll keep him safe for when it's all over."

Remus held on to the bear tighter. "Can't - can't I have him with me?" he asked.

Lyall looked at Hope helplessly. How was he supposed to explain what would truly happen tonight? It was no wonder Remus didn't understand. How could Lyall tell a five-year-old that he would be erased in a haze of pain, to be taken over by a creature that he'd only heard of as being vicious and dangerous?

Hope knelt down and took over. "No, love. He'd get torn apart, but he'll be waiting for you when it's all over. Just like I will. All right?"

Remus nodded and slowly handed Claude over to her. Lyall stepped in and gently lifted Remus's robes off; he'd destroy them as well. "I'm going to lock the door," Lyall said. He swallowed when he saw the terrified look on Remus's face and bent down and hugged him close. "Don't...don't fight it," he added. "It'll only make it harder." He knew how pitiful that advice was, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Lyall sighed as he shut the door, casting both the Silencing Charm and the Unbreakable Charm. Please, let him make it through this, he thought desperately. The hours until moonset, at nearly seven thirty the next morning, seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of them. He looked at Hope, who looked as upset as he felt, her eyes never leaving the closed door. At a quarter to seven, when the moonlight began shining through the hall window, she got up briskly. "I'm going to go make Remus's potion," she said. "He'll need it." Lyall nodded; they had chosen the strongest pain management potion they felt they could comfortably give Remus while he was still so young. "I just hope it'll be enough," Hope went on.

"It's trial and error," Lyall said hopelessly. "I don't know if anyone's ever really done this before." Hope knew that as well as he did, and she disappeared into the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. As the hours went on, Lyall was almost envious of her. Hope had something to do, while he could do nothing but pace around in front of the locked door in case something happened.

He had never felt so helpless. The only sound was the ticking of the clock, and the silence was almost worse than the noise would have been. He couldn't stop picturing Remus prowling around the room, and all the horrible facts he'd learned about the werewolf transformation played through his mind. In isolation, the werewolf will bite and scratch itself...the transformed werewolf is very strong and can break through walls and windows as if they are nothing...most spells present very little difficulty to a werewolf intent on its prey. Lyall sighed, glaring at the moon, which shone brightly through the window. He held his breath as he saw a shadow appear through the crack between the door and the floor, but Remus appeared to get bored and move on. Lyall breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know if he could bring himself to drive Remus back as he had done so easily to Greyback.

Hope came back every halfway through. "It's ready," she said. "I added some extra ingredients to fight nausea. He was so sick, before…" she broke off and Lyall hugged her impulsively.

"He'll probably need it," he said. "It's more than halfway over." Hope nodded against his shoulder, still staring at the door.

They remained silent the rest of the night, watching the sun begin to rise. It seemed, as it climbed higher in the sky, to be mocking them with its light. Lyall watched the clock, willing it to move faster. Six o'clock...seven o'clock. It seemed as if the night would never end when, finally, it was twenty after seven. Moonset.

"I think it's set," Hope said, looking out the window. "Can we-?"

"I have to make sure," Lyall said. "If I open it too early…" he broke off; that was too horrible to think about, and Hope swallowed and nodded. He looked out the window too, searching for any sign of the moon. But all he saw was the bright, fully risen sun. Consulting his lunar chart, he finally nodded. He didn't think he could have lasted as long as it took to be truly "safe" anyway; he didn't want to leave Remus alone in that room any longer than necessary. Nevertheless, Lyall opened the door slowly. The room was still dark, and he lit his wand, Hope behind him.

Lyall had been right; the ordeal was over. Remus was curled up in the corner, shaking with nearly hysterical sobs, and Lyall ran over, heart pounding. "Remus?" he asked, kneeling down next to him.

In answer, Remus crawled as best he could into Lyall's lap and collapsed against him, crying. Lyall hesitated, afraid to even touch him while he was in so much pain. He settled for gently patting Remus's back. "It's alright, it's over. I promise," he said hearing his voice break and brushing it off. Searching for something he could do, he began trying to pull Remus's nightshirt over his head as gently as he could. "The potion," he said in an undertone to Hope, who appeared shocked into helplessness.

She nodded and went to get it as Lyall carefully picked Remus up, trying to be as gentle as possible. He still gasped in obvious pain, and he didn't seem to have the strength to do anything but lean against Lyall's shoulder. He managed to put Remus in bed and Hope ran in a second later with a gobletful of potion. Lyall tried to get up so Hope could give it to him but Remus clung to him and turned his face away, taking huge, shuddering breaths.

"Remus, Remus, listen to me," Lyall said. "You have to try to drink some potion. It will make it stop hurting, I promise." He wondered briefly how many of the promises he was making he would be able to keep, but then nodded in grim satisfaction as Remus calmed down enough to drink the potion.

A few minutes later, Remus was laying back against the pillows, no longer sobbing, although tears were still coursing down his cheeks. The potion worked quickly, and Lyall spared a moment to be grateful that Hope was as knowledgeable about potions as she was. He settled Remus in bed as best he could; he appeared too exhausted to do anything but sleep. "You should sleep, son," Lyall said. "It'll help."

Remus nodded sleepily, his eyes closing before Lyall finished speaking. Then he suddenly tried to sit up with a gasp of pain, and Lyall and Hope both leaned forward quickly to stop him. "Wh-where's Claude?" Remus asked weakly, his voice hoarse and trembling.

"Shh, don't try to talk," Lyall said gently. Hope went and got Claude off the shelf and handed him over. "See, he's right here," Lyall said, trying to smile encouragingly as Remus hugged the bear and sank under the blankets, falling asleep in seconds. Transformation took so much energy that sleeping was the best thing Remus could do to recover any of his former health.

Hope didn't move from the chair next to Remus's bed. "You had better clean up the room," she said, her voice trembling, smoothing some of Remus's hair off his forehead. He was already in such a deep sleep he didn't even stir. Lyall nodded. She was right, however much he wanted to stay. The moon may have set, but the ordeal wasn't over.

Lyall looked over the spare room, or rather, what once had been the spare room. He had been too concerned with Remus before to truly see the damage, but now his mouth fell open as the sheer amount of destruction became apparent. The first thing he noticed was the blood, smeared across the walls and floor. Seemingly everywhere. He ran his hand over the scratches in the wall and the bite marks in the furniture. Nearly every piece had chunks ripped out, and Lyall swallowed. He had seen the aftermath of many fights with dangerous magical creatures, and he had never seen anything as violent.

Their Remus had done this. Remus, who anxiously cuddled his stuffed bear when he was scared (which, since the attack, was always), who would go play by himself rather than interrupt someone else, who was so proud of learning to read on his own. The difference between the violence of the full moon and the sweet-tempered boy Remus was the rest of the time was so stark Lyall didn't think he could ever find a way to wrap his head around it.

He had been perhaps the size of a puppy.

Lyall steeled himself and got to work, as if he could erase the memory of the full moon and push off his fears of the future by cleaning up the damage. He Vanished the blood and did his best to repair the furniture, ignoring the voice in his head that told him there was no point, that the same thing would happen next month. It gave him something to concentrate on besides the memory of Remus curled up and sobbing in the middle of the destruction. Every month for the rest of his life.

When he went back into Remus's room, Hope was still there, sitting next to Remus's bed, looking exhausted. Lyall cleared his throat tentatively. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You've done enough, haven't you?" Hope responded dully. Lyall nodded and began to turn away; he knew he deserved that. But before he could leave, she continued. "It was worse than I thought...so much worse. I've never seen anything like that."

"Neither have I," Lyall said, pulling up a chair and sitting heavily down next to her.

"There was...blood, in the room," Hope said. "What do you think-?"

"He probably bit himself, or scratched himself," Lyall said. "The instinct is so strong...he wouldn't have been able to help himself." He took a shaky breath and winced as he watched Remus cuddle his teddy bear in his sleep.

"He'll probably have nightmares tonight," Hope said. She left off what they both were thinking, which was that Remus wasn't the only one who would. Lyall thought he would see Remus's small form surrounded by blood and destruction in his worst nightmares for the rest of his life. "I'll stay," Hope said.

Lyall looked up, pushing aside his exhaustion. "No, I'll stay. You should sleep."

She shook her head. "You look like you're about to collapse, Lyall. You, he'll need in top form. I can chase away nightmares. Go."

Lyall opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Hope was right. He stumbled into their bedroom and closed the door, collapsing onto the bed without even changing into his pajamas. He stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep even though he didn't think he had ever felt so drained. The thoughts he'd been pushing off while he was helping Remus crowded back into his mind.

If this is how bad it is now, it's going to be completely unmanageable in ten years.

Lyall let out a mirthless laugh. Ten years? We'll be lucky if we make it until Christmas. Every hope he had seemed to be disappearing before his eyes. Remus would never be a wizard. They would never see him grow up. It all seemed a cruel delusion, that he'd ever thought he was capable of doing this.

And it was all his fault. Lyall broke down and sobbed into his pillow for what felt like hours before he finally fell asleep.

One day later

If the worst part of the week before the full moon was knowing exactly what was coming, the worst part of the week after was the uncertainty. Lyall didn't have any way of knowing when Remus would be able to get out of bed, when he would feel well enough to eat again. They would have to watch him carefully, and Lyall woke up at almost nine o'clock at night, tiptoeing into Remus's room, where Hope was slumped asleep in the chair next to the bed. He had barely sat down when he saw Remus's eyes flutter open.

"Remus, you should be asleep," Lyall said in concern. Remus just stared back him, his green eyes already appearing a little haunted. "How are you feeling?" Lyall continued.

Remus shrugged and sat up gingerly. He winced. "It hurts again," he said quietly. "But not as bad as…" he broke off and Lyall patted his hand, knowing exactly what he was trying to say.

"I know, son. That will stop soon. I can give you some more of your mum's potion, if you want. Did it help?"

Remus nodded and Lyall got another gobletful, which he helped Remus drink carefully. "There you go. Did you want something to eat?" Remus looked so thin, his cheeks hollow and his skin pale, that Lyall couldn't help feeling that he'd recover quicker with something in his stomach.

But Remus shook his head, starting to say something before tears began coursing down his cheeks again, apparently unable to find the words. "All right, Remus, it's all right," Lyall said quickly, moving over to the bed so Remus could climb in his lap. "Does your tummy still feel sick?" he asked.

Remus nodded, letting Lyall hug him as he cried seemingly involuntarily. Lyall frowned; he knew the mental effects of the traumatic transformation would be much longer lasting than any of the physical ones. But he didn't know what else to do beyond let Remus know that he was safe and loved. "OK," Lyall said, trying to sound comforting, like he knew what he was talking about. "You'll start to feel better soon, maybe later or tomorrow. When you do, you make sure sure to tell us, all right? You've got to build your strength up again."

Remus began to cry harder into Lyall's shirt. "I-I d-don't want th-that to happen ag-g-gain," he said between sobs.

"I know," Lyall said, hugging Remus closer. "Believe me, I know. Neither do I."

Remus sniffled, apparently trying to pull himself together. "Ev-every month?" he asked anxiously.

Lyall swallowed and nodded, sending Remus into another fit of crying. "I'm sorry, Remus," Lyall said, gently patting his back. For everything, he thought.

Hope woke up just then. "Oh, Remus, it's alright. It's all over," she said, moving over to the bed. "It's all over." She didn't seem to know what else to say, but Remus nodded and seemed to be trying to calm down. They sat there with Remus between them for a while, until he took a few deep breaths and stopped crying. Hope handed him her handkerchief. "Here, dry your eyes."

Remus nodded, wiping his eyes, then sat up with another wince. Lyall stopped him gently. "Don't try to get up yet, son. Just rest. If you need anything, we'll get it for you."

"You can go back to sleep if you want," Hope said, but Remus shook his head stubbornly, still sniffling. Lyall couldn't help smirking despite everything. Still as stubborn as ever.

"You should rest, though," Lyall said again, quietly but firmly.

Remus nodded, then asked uncertainly, "Will - will you read to me?" He looked up at Lyall hopefully, and he couldn't bring himself to say no.

"As long as you tell me if you really don't feel well," Lyall said. Remus nodded a little more excitedly, and Hope's expression brightened. Lyall couldn't deny he was glad to see Remus start to return to himself, even just a little and he made a show of searching through Remus's beloved books until he found an old favorite. "Here we are," he said, sitting on the bed and beginning to read. As he did, Remus leaned up against him and Lyall put an arm around his thin shoulders. Hope sat at the edge of the bed, listening and keeping a watchful eye on Remus, who seemed engaged and interested in the story, for a little while, at least. After about an hour, he'd fallen asleep again against Lyall, who made certain not to move.

"He'll probably sleep much more than he used to," Lyall said, reverting to giving off facts. He didn't want to talk about how much more subdued and uncertain Remus was. "The recovery seems to be going on schedule," he added. This time. Who knew how many full moons Remus could go through before true recovery wouldn't happen anymore?

Hope sighed and nodded. "You did well with the charms. No one's been by all day, even just walking outside. I don't think anyone noticed anything."

That was a relief; it was their worst fear by far that someone living near them would notice what was going on in their house each month. Lyall inexplicably felt his spirits rise, just a little. They had done it. They had made it through the first full moon. No one had appeared at the door to accuse them of harboring a werewolf. Remus had not escaped and seemed to be recovering on schedule.They had done it.

And if they had done it this time...We can do this. Not only until Christmas, but for the rest of Remus's life, if that's what he needs. If I have to break every law in the wizarding world to do it, Lyall thought. They had already given up everything; their home, his career, their friends, both their families and the possibility of ever having another child. But as Lyall looked from Remus to Hope, he was only thankful that she had found it in herself to stay and face every challenge with him; thankful that Remus was alive at all. Lyall knew he wasn't worthy of them; he'd let them down in ways he'd never even imagined. Not anymore. He may not be able to make it up for what happened but he would make sure he never let them down again.

"When Remus is seventeen," Lyall said slowly to Hope, knowing that this was the most important promise he would ever make, to her, to Remus and to himself, "he will be a wizard and we'll all still be together. I promise you that."

Hope watched him for a moment before breaking into a smile. "I'll hold you to that," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I hope you all enjoyed.
> 
> And there will be more where this comes from.


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